Peerless
by EmberSoot
Summary: "At his full height, he towered over me. He wore his iridescent robe, the long-sleeved one, and the spikes of his crown bore summer leaves and berries. His skin was so pale, so perfect, as to appear translucent, and under thunderous, black brows, those icy eyes regarded me appraisingly." Slow burn love triangle with Thranduil, Legolas, and OC. AU. WIP. M/F and F/F. Rated M!
1. Chapter 1

I drew in a deep, shaky breath and stretched my hands.

The gentle sounds of conversation and the smells of finely prepared food reached me, even through the tall, ornately carved double doors that led into the Great Hall at Mirkwood.

I didn't notice the architecture anymore, having grown up in the Elvenking's court, but visitors gaped to see it. Indeed, we often entertained friends from the outside who had come for the sole purpose of observing it. And young ellith and ellyn in training endured hours of lectures on the history of the buildings and their unmatched style. The beauty of the Mirkwood court is truly remarkable.

Tonight, soft light glowed upon the floor from the other side, and having dined often enough with the court, I knew what I would find when the doors opened.

It was the eve of the Summer Solstice celebration, one of our favored observances.

But it was made even more tumultuous by the fact that I was coming out this evening as an eligible Sindarin elleth.

On top of this, I would be performing for everyone, and I expected to be promptly lambasted, my every note dissected and weighed. Years of training had gone into this moment. I had undergone singing lessons, dancing lessons, riding lessons, martial arts, elocution, history, and languages. I knew the right ways to sit and stand and the proper way to arrange hair, arrange flowers, even arrange one's very features in a social situation. All this, and I felt far from ready.

But that didn't matter. This was happening anyway.

Behind me, two ellith and an ellon stood, nervously shaking out their limbs or bouncing on the balls of their feet. Khidell was planning to serenade the court with his pipe. Tanulia was to tell a story, and Vestele would dance. We were each told to exhibit our strengths. I was the lone singer of the group.

I went back over my piece, attempting to recall the lyrics. I was just beginning to panic, not being able to remember the second line, when the great double doors opened, and it was time to go in.

Hundreds of elves filled the hall.

The floorplan was traditional for us, but would be considered unusual by other standards. Graceful open pagodas flowed seamlessly into one another, the gleaming floors standing at different heights. Outside, the green and grey of Mirkwood forest sighed and swayed in a bewitching breeze, adding to the festivities in its own graceful way.

It appeared as though every open space inside had been utilized, set with bentwood tables and chairs. The soft lights gleamed off of the precious stones, crystal and glass, and the polished flatware positively shone.

If it were any other year, I would already have a belly full of wine and meat, merry with drink and good company. This time, the thought of food repulsed me.

As the oldest, I led us up toward the south dais. I could hear Vestele's slippered feet behind me. Every one of us stood tall and stately, walking toe-heel, toe-heel, as we had been taught, betraying absolutely none of the dread or fear we felt.

The attendees of the celebration were silent, observing. I could feel their eyes on us, and suddenly became conscious of my soft, brown hair hanging against my spine.

I had two tiny braids starting behind my ears, as was fashionable, and the rest had been gathered in a low, loose tail halfway down my back. I wore no ornaments. Inside my long, trailing sleeves, I clenched my hands. There was a correct way to do everything, and Valar, I would do it tonight or I would have no future at court.

There was shuffling on the north dais at the other side of the hall, and though aware of the noise and movement, I kept my eyes trained in front of me, intent on my goal. The north dais was where the upper echelon sat—our nobles and high clergy—and of course, our king and his son.

Finally, my foot found the first step up to the south dais, and my companions and I filed into place before our four chairs. Together, without glancing to the side at one another, we sank into our seats in perfect unison, and I imagined a collective breath released by the whole elven gathering. The guests began to speak again at last, the low murmur of conversation welling up like water from a spring. At least I hadn't tripped. The first test—we had passed it.

* * *

"Indeed, the whole foul population ought to be rooted out and destroyed, Thranduil," insisted Illitran Reyren, still talking about the spiders. As commander general, he was ever concerned for his soldiers, especially just outside the bounds of Mirkwood where the beasts were most plentiful.

Always the spiders with that one, Thranduil thought, irritated. "They are contained, Reyren. The guard has seen to that." His voice was cold and clipped.

"But are you really so satisfied, my King?" Reyren continued. We have committed ourselves to maintenance of the realm in this respect, rather than rooting out the problem at its core."

"Please, Reyren," interrupted Connak, the foreign affairs advisor. "The King finds this subject noisome. Shouldn't we be more concerned with the solstice? Ayduin will be casting stones and reading them this evening, won't you?" An elf with long, sleek, nearly black hair nodded at him. "And what of our proteges?" Connak continued. "We have the performances to look forward to."

Thranduil gave Connak an appreciative nod.

"My apologies, my King," Reyren said, inclining his head slightly toward the head of the table. "I will save defense strategies for another day."

Before the Elvenking could reply, there was movement from the south dais.

The fine arts leader had risen to her feet, her soft robes reflecting the lamplight. "Greetings," she said silkily, "and happy solstice." Her voice filled the room without being strident.

"Happy solstice," the collective group murmured warmly.

She smiled. "I am Hamalitia Valtris, overseer of fine arts in the court of Mirkwood. I am happy to present to the conclave these young ones; ellith Filauria Ilitris, Vestele Nerican, and Tanulia Leoric, and ellon Khidell Eildove. They have been fully trained and are celebrating their aging this evening."

Thranduil cast across the room lazily. His keen eyes could easily see to the south dais, even far away as it was. This ceremony was cursory, of course. In his hundreds of years of life, he had seen countless elves come of age, all beautiful, all accomplished. He was bored with it all.

But next to him, his son Legolas sat up a little straighter, peering at the young elves.

"I would encourage you to continue on with your evening conversation during the entertainment. Respond if you wish," continued Hamalitia. She turned to the four young elves. "On behalf of the court of Mirkwood, and his Highness Thranduil Elvenking, I congratulate and welcome you to our ranks."

There was a collective scraping of chair legs against the polished floor, and the entire community rose in a flutter of whispering robes. Silvery applause echoed throughout the chamber of the Great Hall. Vestele, Filauria, Tanulia and Khidell watched, overwhelmed. The ellith were teary, and the ellon bowed his head, humbled. After a moment, the applause died down and the guests began to take their seats once more.

There was a pregnant silence then.

* * *

I felt uneasy. The positive affirmation left me with a heady feeling of triumph, true. But I was anxious to get on with the evening. Tanulia's performance was first. What are we waiting for? I wondered.

Then I realized that everyone was looking at the King.

Heads swiveled to face the north dais, and shuffling sounds filled the hall.

Thranduil was staring straight at us. Over the whispers, he slowly raised his hand in a gesture of salute. The court took this as a signal for the festivities to begin, and Tanulia rose to take the dais.


	2. Chapter 2

Legolas tucked into his meal happily. There was grilled squab, mushrooms, and summer salads with roasted vegetables, all perfectly seasoned. The elven wine this evening was particularly good.

Celebratory observances were a splendid departure from the norm, and Legolas welcomed every single one.

At court in general, there was much to be desired. There was the growing and shifting, nay, evolving of the forest itself, the strained relationships with their neighbors the dwarves, and the fearsome spiders that roamed the land in and around the Mirkwood. Tauriel, the captain of the King's guard, did her best every season to keep them at bay, but it was difficult to battle them without the full permission of his father… His father, Legolas thought, troubled.

Thranduil was such a cold ellon. He rarely spoke to his son, and when he did, the words were clipped, formal, and usually instructional.

Tauriel, beautiful, strong Tauriel, one of his dearest friends, had withdrawn since the Winter, leaving Prince Legolas hurt and confused. It hadn't taken long to guess that her grudging silence had something to do with Thranduil. If he knew his father at all, Legolas would bet that the King was less than impressed with Tauriel's bloodline. In a kingdom as backward as Mirkwood, that mattered.

Very carefully and slowly, the prince had disengaged his feelings for the young elleth, thankful that they hadn't entered into an agreement at least. It still hurt, but he would recover in time.

Still longing for companionship, Legolas had begun to consider forming an attachment with someone at court. If the elleth in question was properly bred and trained, she would be welcome to join the royal family. He hoped for a little brightness, some comfort in his life. Happiness, even.

This latest crop of young elves was particularly accomplished, if what Legolas had heard at court was to be believed. Only four this year, he thought to himself. By the Valar, if his people diminished and went into the Undying Lands before he had a chance to wed, he would simply… he would just…

A movement from the south dais caught his eye.

One of the younger ellith was telling a story there, a grand, heroic tale. She stood before the others, her voice resonant without sounding shrill. Her movements were perfect. But Legolas was not watching her.

One of the seated ellith watched her friend with a gentle smile. She slowly, unconsciously brought her long graceful hands together and folded them, interlocking the fingers.

Legolas found himself spellbound. This simple gesture, though done absently, was inexplicably provocative to him.

Interested, he began to study her. She had smooth, clear skin, a high forehead, and shining coppery brown hair. Above all, her mysterious and intelligent eyes drew him in.

Unaware she was being watched, the elleth continued to enjoy the storytelling portion of the evening. When she laughed, she flashed a bright set of perfect white teeth. She wielded all of the grace and dignity expected from the elvenkind.

He smiled a little, reminding himself not to get too carried away. He must ask for the proper introductions later.

* * *

As the evening tripped on, I forgot my nerves. I was sure that the gravity of the situation would drag me down, and I would be reduced to a sweating, tense mass of anxiety, but instead, something wonderful happened.

My colleagues. My fellow students pulled me out of the mire and set my mind at ease somehow.

It started with Tanulia. She had committed to memory the legend of Durothil and the Stag, and had rewritten it in her own profound words. Then she'd tirelessly worked and practiced, and whispered and screamed and shouted until the story was absolutely perfect. Her delivery was perfect!

Her voice was commanding. One moment, she stroked the listener's ears gently and the next she gripped them hard like steel.

I was in awe. I had thought we would all be up for the fire of Subjective Elven Judgement, but Tanulia's excellence made me forget all of that, forget even where I was. I simply lost myself to her story and enjoyed it.

Toward the end, I heard a few scattered sniffles and realized that my own eyes were wet. Tanulia's voice slowed, and her voice carried every bit of the broken pathos she felt as Durothil approached the Stag for the last time.

 _The creature lay still as ice, never more to move,_

 _And the great warrior Durothil, in admiration of the beast,_

 _Knelt out of the deepest respect._

 _For two fortnights had they raced the meadows green,_

 _And with the bright flame of pursuit finally dimmed,_

 _The great Durothil found the answer he had sought._

 _The beauty and the pleasure lies not in the goal,_

 _But always in the chasing of it._

Tanulia took a moment to allow the story to fall, as though it were a single, silent snowflake. She bowed her head, and for a few seconds, no one moved. Then she glanced up with a gentle smile, and the hall positively exploded with applause.

Her recitation had been perfect, and she knew it. Slowly, gratefully, she bowed in the deep style of the Sindarin, then, rising, stretched a hand toward the north dais in salute. She turned her back on the guests filling the hall to return to her seat, and I caught her eye.

She raised her eyebrows, clearly glad the whole ordeal was over. Her aura was pink and glowing. I was proud of her.

Khidell was to play next. I don't know what I was expecting. I supposed I'd imagined him fumbling with the pipe, his breath coming in shaky, uneven breaths that ruined the music. But I'd forgotten just who he was—who we were. We were some of the best entertainers in Middle Earth. Well, us and our thousands of brethren. Though I knew he must have been trembling, his outward demeanor was calm and confident.

His song was Maiden Fair by the legendary elvish composer Cirisil Lulen. Music by this ellon was an extremely traditional choice, but not many ever opted to play this work in particular. Unlike much of our music—slow, heartfelt, and stately, it moved forward steadily, with melodic intricacies that spellbound the listener. Khidell handled it beautifully.

Hamalitia had told everyone to continue with their meals during the presentations, but hardly anyone moved.

And just like that, it was Vestele's turn. I watched her rise with all the grace of the moon emerging from its sheath to hang over the hills.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for reading, if you've come along with me this far! And thank you, La Femme Absurde, for your kind comment. This is turning out to be a fun world to play in.

* * *

Legolas clapped along with the rest of the court as the young ellon Khidell finished his performance, but was still unable to tear his eyes away from the south dais and the elleth with the coppery brown hair.

Her co-initiate Vestele rose then and took the stage.

Thraduil had mostly finished his meal and was listening languidly to the small talk around him. He had a habit—well, no, a compulsion, really—of eavesdropping. His excellent hearing was his credit, but also a downfall. He had found from a very young age that by concentrating he was able to single out a lone conversation out of many, discerning all comments made with perfect clarity. He told no one. It was too valuable—and amusing! a skill.

At the moment, one of the dignitaries just off of the North dais was saying to her friend, "Stop touching it! It looks fine!"

"It does not," her counterpart remarked fretfully. "If only I'd gone home early today, I'd have had time to brush and braid it properly!"

Thradruil switched imperceptibly to a different couple.

This pair was obviously romantically involved. "Let's leave," he was saying to her. "I can think of several other things I'd rather be doing right now."

"Patience," said his mate. "Not that I do not return your affections, but our daughter will be initiated next year, and I want to see the process for our own edification."

"I'll edify you," the other remarked sullenly. "Tease."

Thranduil chuckled silently to himself.

Legolas noticed, surprised. "Father? Something amuses you?"

And the Elvenking gave a smooth excuse. "Not at all. Just reminiscing about my own initiation."

"Ah."

On the South Dais, the elleth called Vestele had begun to dance. In most cases, elves danced in large groups, with each other, and to accompanying music. But the format for this performance was very traditional. The young elleth danced in deep and meditative silence, allowing onlookers to hear the sounds of her feet hitting the floor, the fall of her gown's fabric as she moved. It was at once sensual and contemplative.

The guests had begun to converse again.

"Father," Legolas asked idly. "Do you know of that elleth on the South dais? I believe Filauria is her name, if I heard Hamalitia correctly."

Thraduil's eyes darted over to regard the young elleth in question. "I know that she is being presented at court this evening," he remarked dryly.

Legolas tried not to roll his eyes.

Ayduin, one of the king's consort, spoke up. "She is a friend of a friend, your majesty, though I am not acquainted with her myself. I hear she is remarkably talented for her age."

"All elves are accomplished," said Thranduil matter-of-factly. "The training they receive is excellent. In my lifetime, I have not once been disappointed at the aging ceremony."

Ayduin bowed his head. "As you say, your Highness."

"I would meet her, if it please you, my King," Legolas persisted.

Thranduil's keen eyes flicked over to the South Dais once more to appraise the elleth in question, but he replied casually, carelessly, as if he were insufferably bored with the whole idea. "As you wish, my son. I trust and expect us all to engage socially with many courtiers this evening. This Filauria need not be excluded."

In spite of himself, Thranduil was curious. Romantic and a little dramatic, yes—but his son Legolas had not professed vocal interest in an elleth since his foolish infatuation with Tauriel. What a disaster a match like that might have been.

The Mirkwood court was applauding around them in conclusion of young Vestele's performance. Father and son alike joined in.

Connak was clapping heartily beside them. "What a lovely, evocative dance. Very pleasing."

Legolas nodded, still watching the proceedings at the other end of the hall.

The elleth named Filauria stood gracefully and took the front of the podium. Her movements were careful and measured, her breath moving fluidly through her slim frame. Legolas was taken with the fragile, lace-like collarbone and the gentle turn of her long neck. Even from here, he could see her pulse move there when she swallowed.

The gathering of elves had allowed their collective conversation to dwindle to soft fragments, but as the young elleth took a deep breath, all diminished into total silence.

It was the last offering of the evening, and they didn't want to miss a moment of it.

She began on a low, soft note.

At the start of the song there was a series of arpeggios that built around one another and subtly changed key one by one, a tricky thing to accomplish for one singing sans accompaniment.

The tone of the elleth's voice was youthful, high and clear, like a young ellon who had been cut and designated a singer for life. But to this was somehow added a silkiness that was unmistakably feminine—and very alluring. Her consonants were clear, and she tasted each one. It was altogether one of the most pleasing experiences Legolas had ever had where music was concerned.

She demonstrated her knowledge and mastery of held high notes with perfect vowel modification, complex rhythms, and even trills.

Then he remembered to listen to the lyrics!

He'd never heard this particular song before. It was in Sindarin.

It was about a seed planted deep within the earth, cradled in the dark, loamy soil. It spoke of soaking rains and the warmth of the sun before the plantling emerged out into the light and then tentatively stretched out delicate green tendrils to touch the swift currents of the air. The part of the song that was the climax bespoke the getting and flowering of the bloom and its bright, colorful glory—its completion in feeding visiting bees and fluttering hummingbirds.

He found himself becoming frustrated. How was he to pay attention to the words when her sweet voice floated so enticingly above them all? But if he focused on the mere sound of her, he missed the lyrics!

Toward the end, the song slowed, and the elleth sang of the deadly frosts reaching to finger the plant, crushing the flowers, causing the tender flesh of the stem to wither and the leaves to faint. But as the petals wept in the coming storms of Winter, a new seed dropped to sprawl in the dirt below, ready to sleep deeply, covered by a blanket of crushed leaves and soil until the Spring.

There was a brief stunned silence, and Legolas realized she had stopped singing several heartbeats prior. He heard a few sharp intakes of breath and an emotional sniff or two. His vision seemed to cloud, and then clear. Slowly, as if waking from a dream, he lifted long fingers to his own face, and they came away wet.

In the instant before the applause thundered forth from the group, he happened to look at his father.

The Elvenking was staring at the young elleth as if she'd personally wounded him.

At Legolas' glance, the King recovered himself, and as the court began to applaud, Thranduil himself joined in, even standing to show his respect for such skill. The homage he paid was proud, and grand, and generous, and the King's now schooled features bespoke none of the appreciation he'd privately espoused. Legolas shook his head, also clapping for this young Filauria. What was his father so afraid of? Was it so dangerous to demonstrate one's feelings?

With the monarchs at their feet, it was incumbent upon the rest of the court to follow.

Hamalitia rose to say a few words in conclusion, and to congratulate this cohort on their aging and consequent merging with the rest of the court populace in Mirkwood.

Then Prince Legolas' heart began to beat again.


	4. Chapter 4

I smiled at my colleagues, feeling a triumphant flush spread over my features. It was over. We had done it.

Vestele came over to embrace me, and I could feel both of our hearts pounding madly against their cages as I pressed in closer to her.

Hamalitia came to me next, beaming and full of pride.

"Thank you," I whispered to her.

"You were wonderful," she said confidently in my ear. "All of you."

I sighed in relief, as much at her approval as the entire court's. My limbs trembled slightly now that the whole ordeal was over. I chanced a look over her shoulder at the rest of the hall. The gathered elves were feasting and chatting, enjoying their summer solstice. We had given them their entertainment, and now they wouldn't give us a second thought.

Legolas had turned back to his meal and quickly finished it after the entertainment portion of the evening had ceased.

Slowly, strains of music began to drift into the Great Hall from the glade outside. The attendants of the summer solstice celebration were slowly rising from their seats to meander out into the gloom of early evening. Soon the dancing would start.

He craned over beautiful elven heads bedecked with circlets and blossoms but couldn't seem to catch a glimpse of his latest quarry. He worried for a moment that she was lost to him until he remembered that this was technically her coming out celebration, and that dances and conversation with her were likely to become a highlight of the occasion.

I was famished. I hadn't been able to eat all day leading up to the event and now that it was over, my body had resumed it natural processes. I hurriedly grabbed a few morsels of food on my way out of the Great Hall, setting the small chunks of glistening swab and forest mushrooms delicately down on my deftly carved wooden trencher. The tender meat positively melted in my mouth.

Tanulia caught up with me and linked her arm in one of mine. "How are you?" she asked gently.

"Much better," I told her.

"You ought to be," she replied. "It's being said there hasn't been such a song in these halls since the days of Oropher. That was exceedingly fine, my friend. Well done."

I felt myself blush. "Thank you. Your recitation tonight…"

She smiled warmly at me.

"Magical," I finished. "Everyone is so proud of us. Can you feel them all?"

"I can."

I continued. "I'm so relieved. I don't know what I thought was going to happen this evening. I suppose I actually expected to trip and fall or fudge my song or that something terrible would happen and I'd be dispelled from court. Now that we're through, I'm not sure what to do with myself."

She grinned at me. "I know what you mean." She stole a piece of food from my plate and popped it into her mouth with long, elegant fingers. "But if you really don't know what happens next, you're thicker than I thought."

I frowned at her and was about to ask her what she meant when Tanulia disengaged her arm from mine and waved at a beautiful young ellon standing nearby. At his wordless invitation, she joined him.

I was stunned. I had apparently repressed the idea that I was… coming out—this evening.

I had reached the glade without realizing it.

Thousands of glowing crystalline fixtures shed soft light down on the gathering, silvering the leaves and branches that surrounded us.

There was an area sectioned off for a group of elven musicians—pipers, tabor, tympanon, and many other players had begun to cluster together to discuss the selections for the evening. I knew that as a singer, I would be welcome to join them if I wanted, now that I'd been accepted into Court.

Those around me seemed to float rather than walk. Tall, straight-backed, stately and beautiful, my kin rendered the clearing full of glowing skin, silken tails of hair, finely wrought fabrics, and the silver gleam of elven-wrought ornaments.

I nearly wanted to turn and forsake it all for the comfort and solitude of my rooms. Then I apparently forgot myself, because when I took a hesitant step back, my body—quite heavily—met with someone else's.

I jumped. "Pardon," I said at once, and attempted to turn around. This was a horrible idea. In my haste, I lost control of my plate, and several mushrooms and a bone flew tumbled off of my trencher and toward the ground. I then attempted to catch them somehow. Another questionable idea. I only succeeded in swatting one of the mushrooms farther away from myself and out into the clearing, where a gorgeous, mature ellon unwittingly stepped on it and then looked about himself in confusion as to why the ground was behaving in that unexpected way.

A half-crazed smirk made its way onto my face in spite of everything, and with a tiny gasp of laughter, I turned to meet whoever it was I'd irrevocably offended.

I nearly fainted where I stood.

It was Thranduil Elvenking, Mirkwood's Protector, Ruler of the Woodland Realm, King of Greenwood the Great, Son of Oropher, Sovereign of the Wood Elves and Father to the Crown Prince Legolas.

I had never been this close to him. He was magnificent.

His gleaming mane of blond, nearly white locks fell to his waist, and he wore his circlet of fine silver with the clouded blue gem at the point of his brow. He was much taller than me, and I had to look up to meet his cold blue eyes, which peered out at me from under his thick, dark brows.

I immediately looked away, frightened. There was a terrible moment of silence during which I wasn't sure what to do.

Then I berated myself for a fool and knelt, bowing my head before my monarch. I held my trencher, still with errant scraps of food on it, inanely out in front of myself.

"My King," I said reverently.

He didn't reply, and I dared not lift my eyes to his again.

"I apologize. I did not know you were here," I added.

Again, a horrible silence.

Then he spoke, his voice commanding and resonant. "Somehow, I doubt that very much."

I looked up at him, and found that he'd quirked one of his great brows almost imperceptibly at me. Humor? From Thranduil Elvenking?

"Is that for me?" he asked, looking dubiously down at my trencher.


	5. Chapter 5

I was opening my mouth to form a reply—not having the faintest idea what I might say—when Hamalitia swooped in from nowhere and rescued me.

"Your highness," she said smoothly and with a charming smile, "are you at all acquainted with my latest crop of students?"

He turned to face her.

As he did, Hamalitia took my trencher quickly out of my hands and gave it to an intendant who happened to be passing us. The awkwardness of needing to maneuver my way about the clearing with food in my hands vanished as if it had never existed, and Hamalitia's panic was only betrayed by a slight widening of the eyes as she smiled down at me. She proffered me a hand, and I took it gratefully, standing up once more.

 _Don't embarrass me,_ her eyes seemed to plead.

"I have not been introduced to any of the initiates," Thranduil said by way of reply. He didn't add that he'd like to be, but Hamalitia pressed bravely onward anyway.

"This is Filauria Ilitris; our singer. A very promising talent. I have been extremely impressed with her progress."

I looked up into the King's eyes to find him studying me. A shiver walked up my spine. Those eyes!

"Of course, all of the initiates are trained in song, dance, and the mastery of instruments, but Ilitris seemed to have a natural talent with the voice. It runs in her family, I understand," Hamalitia continued graciously.

"I recall there was an Ilitris engaged by my father," Thranduil remarked offhandedly, "for social performances and events of state."

I respectfully dipped into a gentle curtsey. "My cousin," I said, "Baradil."

He nodded. "Oropher was quite pleased with him, and bespoke him highly. It is no small thing to have a talented voice in the Court of Mirkwood."

I bowed my head slightly in admission and obeisance.

Hamalitia looked at me as if to urge me onward.

"Is his Majesty fond of music?" I managed to ask.

"If the composer suits me," the King answered. "I do not care overmuch for the new style being written lately. I find it mimics the old without any of the mastery to back it up."

Beyond him, I saw Prince Legolas approaching us and tried to steel myself. I did not imagine that I would be meeting either monarch this evening, but here it was, and I would have to see this through or my years at Court would be very uncomfortable.

"My Prince," Hamailia intoned, and the two of us gave him curtsey.

Legolas gave my teacher a bright smile, saying, "I must compliment your presentation this evening. I and my party were most excessively entertained. It was almost enough to dull the memory of my own tedious lessons with you all those years ago."

She smiled mischievously at him. "You always did hate to practice your scales, my Prince." Then, "May I introduce Filauria Ilitris, another of my former pupils?"

"A pleasure," he murmured, taking my hand—!—and brushing a gentle kiss across the back of my knuckles.

"My Prince," I said quietly.

The Prince wore a long jerkin of a sheened velvet material, with vambraces of gilded leather and a belt to match. His leggings were sewn of delicate deerskin, and his long, silken blond hair was dressed simply but elegantly. His eyes were brown this evening.

One of the court aides approached Thranduil King and whispered something urgently in his ear. I saw his eyes move as if to consider this new information and then he gave a short nod. To the rest of us, he gave a curt, "Excuse me," and then turned, following his man away from the clearing.

"My lady," Legolas said quietly, "Would you favor me with a dance?"

Behind him, Hamalitia fairly glowed with pride. I saw the slightly manic nod of her head and swallowed my panicked laughter. "Certainly, Your Highness," I told him.

Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm offered me his arm, and I took it, my fingers resting gently in the crook of his elbow. I allowed him to lead me away from the feasting tables and musicians and out into the glade where the others were dancing.

"Do you know it?" Legolas asked me over the strains of the song the court musicians were just beginning to strike up.

I did. It was a stately, strolling thing, all figure-work and patterns. Not too fast, and not languid enough to be considered a courtship dance. "Indeed, your Highness," I replied. "Castel's March is one of my favorites." The songs and dances were often synonymous at court, each known by the same title.

He grinned at me. "Mine is The Chase," he told me, referring to a complicated sort of reel that was difficult for the dancers to complete if played to speed.

"His Majesty prefers lively tunes, then," I commented, more to ward off awkward silences than to communicate.

The Prince gave me a small bow of assent, and we began.

It made sense, of a sort. Prince Legolas was renowned for his ability both with horses and the bow, and I had heard he was quite dangerous with the sword as well. That the Prince favored challenging dances should have come as no surprise to me.

"I do not mean," he added, "to say that I _dislike_ slow dances. I am very fond of dancing in general. Just that I prefer faster ones. More engaging, more… challenging." And a devilish glint flashed in his eye.

* * *

The long lines of ellith and ellyn stood facing each other as the first few notes sounded.

Legolas extended a hand toward his partner—Filauria, the singer, newly trained, newly presented, newly _out_ —and led her through a series of figures wherein they twined about the other elven couple in their set. Her hand was soft, her fingers long and delicate as they briefly touched his.

"What will you do now, my lady, that you have been presented at court?" he asked her offhandedly.

The maiden frowned. "I think I must pursue an occupation here in Mirkwood."

He nodded in approval, then looked up at her when she laughed. The sight was pleasing to him.

"I must confess," she said, "I had not thought over much beyond tonight. Once the evening is done, I have a lot of decisions to make."

Legolas smiled kindly at her. "I understand. Then let us not tax you. We'll simply enjoy and celebrate tonight while your victory is fresh. Though," he added, "I think you would be wise to consider a position in my father's inner circle as a royal bard. You'd make a fine one, if you have the ability to write and record history as well as sing. And I've a feeling you have."

The elleth grinned at him. "It would be an honor, but I'd have to be invited."

Legolas passed her off to her ellon counter in the couple beside them, and Filauria allowed her temporary partner to turn her and lead her in a figure about Legolas and the other elleth.

"Consider yourself invited," Legolas called over the din of the music. The couple had moved down the row of elves as the dance progressed and were now quite close to the musicians.

Filauria laughed as she rejoined him. "Can you do that?"

"I don't see why not," he retorted. "I am the Crown Prince. And I happen to know that the last four royal bards we've had have been ellyn. It would be nice to have an elleth back in the circle. It grows boring, you know—always hearing the same stories from the same point of view. I don't think it's good for any of us."

Filauria considered. "I'd never thought of that before."

They danced a while in silence.

Legolas said, a little too casually, "You're very good, you know."

"You flatter me."

"I don't."

When she moved to protest, he said, "Yes, we all receive fine arts training, combat, history—everything. You know as well as I do what it takes to mature as elves. But every few hundred years, a raw talent pops up. It is believe that they are blessed by the Valar."

Filauria listened. It was getting harder to concentrate on her steps as the conversation reached its head.

"They also say," continued Legolas, leaning across the row so as to be heard more easily, "That these bards garner attention both from their sires and from evil forces afar who seek to harm them. Not to frighten you, but you may be safest under the watchful eyes of our inner court."

It did frighten her.

"But as we have said," added the Prince. "I'll stop tormenting you now. Only think on it when life calms a bit."

"I promise I will."

All too soon, the music ended, and the dancers hit their final marks, bowing to one another gracefully.

Legolas offered Filauria his arm and led her away from the center of the clearing.


	6. Chapter 6

The evening passed quite pleasantly for me.

I found myself engaged for most dances and was introduced to so many nobles that I was hard pressed to recall their names later. I saw hardly anything of my fellow initiates, and when I did, we exchanged elated—and sometimes, exhausted—glances at one another. Was this was it felt like to be included at Court?

 _Probably not_ , I concluded to myself later as I bathed my flushed face and dressed for bed. At the moment, we were still aglow in the acceptance and pomp that the Summer Solstice celebration afforded. Once all settled and real life began, we would need to sort out our own thoughts and feelings, and quickly, if we were to make our way in the Greenwood.

Slowly, I unwound the braids and knots in which my long coppery hair had been dressed. It was a relief to finally undo it all, and I slid my fingers up underneath the tender spots and mussed my own hair, not caring anything for my appearance anymore.

My feet and legs throbbed from too much dancing, but emotional relief continued to flood me.

The dim quiet of my room was deliciously tranquil after the chaos of the Summer Solstice celebration. I paused in my nighttime ministrations and forced myself to meet my own eyes in the small looking glass. The elleth staring back at me appeared… confused. Happy. Content. And perhaps a bit frightened.

I became aware of a clear, thin voice chanting in Sindarin that hovered over the residences, high up in the air. Some sort of vesper. I listened for a moment, and was able to discern honor and acknowledgement of the solstice.

Drawn by the gentle beauty of the voice, I followed the floating sound of it out onto the terrace of my residence. Over the palatial balusters, I observed the gloam of the Mirkwood swaying and trembling in the silent wind below, whispered accompaniment for the unseen singer's song. Far off in the distance, I could hear the soft babbling of the nearby stream. The scent of the night was absolutely intoxicating.

In some ways, I wanted nothing to change. I was happy as I was. But in others, I was fair bursting to begin the next chapter of my life. And filled with trepidation as to what that might mean.

It struck me how much my mother would have liked to be present for my initiation. The thought was far too painful, and with it came unbidden thoughts of my sister—and of her husband. I thrust it all quickly away from myself, glad to be far from the city of my birth, far from where my life had seemed to fall to pieces. I was here now. I was a Mirkwood Elf—literally and officially.

I don't remember seeking my bed after that, but I must have, for that's where I woke up the next morning, mouth dry and head pounding from the wine.

It was some days later that a message hastily scrawled on royal parchment was delivered to my residence. My heart gave a little leap as I slid my thumbnail under the iron-colored seal. It was obviously from someone in Thranduil King's inner circle.

 _To Filauria Ilitris,_

 _My Dear Lady,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. I write to encourage your attendance at the annual courtier meet. As a residence of the Court of Mirkwood, you cannot be ignorant of it at this point. What you may not know is that during the meeting, elven kin who wish to enter the employ of my father the King may come unsummoned to the inner court for review and possible engagement._

 _Please forgive my forthright manner on the subject. At the Summer Solstice Celebration when we spoke, I got the impression you would welcome such an overture as concerns your career. If I overstep, I am truly sorry. In any case, I hope to see you there._

 _Your Friend and Advocate,_

 _Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm_

He thought for the longest time that she would not come. And if Legolas were honest with himself, he scarcely had time to introduce her to the proper parties anyway. The annual meet was necessarily fraught with duties for him as the crown prince. Busywork, he thought, annoyed. He'd rather be employed in altruistic endeavors or removed from court completely and left to his own amusement than endure this… what was it his father called it? Networking?

The prince looked down at his trimmed and polished fingernails. He'd absently chewed on his thumbnail earlier—he really must stop that.

"This way, please," Kendel Virynore was saying gently to a tall, stately elleth nearby. Virynore was one of the liasons on the royal council. As the two ellith approached him, Legolas made sure to smile benevolently, however frustrated he was.

"My Prince," Kendel murmured, dropping into a respectful curtsey, "May I introduce to you Wyn Dawenys, of the Dawenys family."

The elleth was blonde, with frosty eyelashes and deep blue eyes. A charming collection of freckles smattered her pert features.

"Enchanted, my lady," he said smoothly, brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

"The Dawenys family breeds livestock, and Wyn has some skill with training horses. She wishes to assist her elder brother in his position as stablemaster for the royal guard," continued Kendel.

Legolas nodded. The elves of Mirkwood had long lost any preconceptions about ellith versus ellon fulfilling physically demanding duties. All were equal here. "I see not why the council would look upon this as unfavorable," he replied. "Though I can't say I know whether another hand is needed. But," he cried suddenly, laughing, "My lady, we have somehow led you to the wrong chamber. This room is meant for political alliances. I will escort you, if you wish."

Wyn looked relieved and gave him a small smile, nodding her assent.

Kendel relinquished her charge and turned away quickly to see to other matters. The room was abuzz with elves forming new acquaintances and exchanging information.

Legolas offered Wyn his arm, and she took it gratefully. "I have not had a chance to oversee requests for royal engagement yet this afternoon," he explained conversationally. "But I understand not many have applied this year."

She nodded.

"Have you taken refreshment yet?" Legolas asked her. When the elleth shook her head, he continued, "You must be sure to help yourself after the interview, if one is granted."

They reached the appropriate chamber, and he was just wondering how to deposit the elleth and extricate himself when he saw the singer. She'd come after all!

The she-elf looked just as he remembered her—long, coppery brown hair and deep brown eyes. Her hair was dressed simply today, and she wore a fitted gown nearly devoid of embellishments, which struck him as brave for such an occasion. She carried a pair of soft leather-bound books in her hand—one was large enough to cover most of one shapely thigh. Music, he guessed. The other was much smaller.

Filauria looked up and saw him in almost the same instant as he saw her, and he thought he noticed her eyes travel from him to Wyn Dawenys and back. Was that a shadow of jealousy he saw? Or was it his own wishful imagination?

Prince Legolas gave her an impetuous grin. "I was hoping you'd come," he said to Filauria unceremoniously. Then, "This is Wyn Dawenys, an applicant for the royal stables. She'd found herself in the wrong chamber."

The two ellith slowly curtsied to one another.

"Am I in the right place?" Filauria asked Legolas.

"Yes," he replied. "Just over there." And he pointed to where two ellyn sat behind an intricately carved wooden table, speaking with their kin and scribbling gently on pieces of outstretched parchment.

Filauria curtsied to the prince and his escort, murmuring "Excuse me," before seeking to check in. She walked with her back very straight and tall, Legolas noticed, and felt a little twinge of excitement. She was jealous, or he'd greatly misread her. Nothing that couldn't be undone. And it betrayed her interest, however slight, which pleased him. He turned to Wyn.

"My lady, I suggest you do the same," he said, and she nodded once and then curtsied to him before leaving. What an odd little thing. She hardly seemed assertive enough to work with stubborn livestock, but what did he know?

After speaking with the two ellyn at the great wooden table, Filauria stood off to one side, still clutching her books to herself. A small smile curved the prince's lips. She did not mean to rejoin him.

"What have you brought with you?" he asked curiously as he approached her once more.

The elleth looked down at the volumes in her long hands. "Selections," she answered, a little coolly. "I wasn't sure what the committee would like to hear, so I thought I would bring a range of what I have to offer."

"Only music?" he asked. "Or more?"

"More," she replied, grudgingly allowing herself to get caught up in the conversation. "I write if the mood strikes me, so some of it is my own. As his Majesty knows himself from arts training, I can also recite and play the pipes. I've been recommended as sufficient in these endeavours by Hamalitia, who says I might seek active employment for any of these talents."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "So it would seem."

She looked up at him quickly, a bit affronted, before noticing the teasing glint in his eyes. A smile broke out on her pretty face, and the prince felt his knees weaken at the sight of it. She laughed quietly, then looked away, sighing. "Forgive my manner," she said. "I'm nervous."

He moved in closer. "Completely understandable." Then, more conspiratorially, he added, "Just remember that all of Mirkwood Court heard you present but a few nights ago. Mark their reactions. As I recall, everyone was stunned and very pleased with your abilities. I would be very much surprised if this interview does not go exactly as you wish it to."

She looked up at him through her eyelashes. It was perfect—artless. Did the she-elf know what a coquette she was at this very moment? Somehow, the prince doubted it.

Filauria opened her mouth to reply, then was interrupted when one of the ellyn called out, "Ilitris!"

Legolas bowed to her and gave her an encouraging smile. She returned it, then answered with a soft, "Here!" as she turned to address the speaker.


	7. Chapter 7

I did not enjoy the series of interviews I endured then. It seemed I spoke to one elvish official after another, always attempting to prove myself. I've never liked impressing someone under duress, and that especially when something of my happiness, livelihood, or both, depended on it.

I was vaguely aware that two other applicants and I all vied for the same position, but tried not to let myself think about it too carefully. At length, I was passed on through the ranks until the very last round of interviews, after which I was hired under probation as a Royal Bard of the Court. A triumphant grin kept stealing over my face the whole rest of the day. I had done it! The liaison and I exchanged pleasantries—and a hefty bonus packet wrapped in parchment and stamped with an official court seal—and then I fled.

I forgot to look for the Prince and thank him.

I returned to my residence that evening to try and relax. The whole ordeal was completely surreal. The very next morning, I would be summoned to court to take up my post. I had just removed some of my jewelry and sunk down onto my bed when I heard a knock at my door.

It was another message.

This one took me by surprise, and seemed to demand that I was to move that very evening across the compound and into a new residence, one sanctioned by the royal family. The letter went on to explain that all in service of Thranduil, King of the Mirkwood, were expected to reside in appointed chambers that he sanctioned himself. At this, I was irritated. I had expected any extra time allotted to me would be mine for studying, resting, practicing, and lining up material. Now all of that was thwarted. I knew enough of our king to know that stubbornness on this front would not be tolerated, and might even result in my expulsion from my new—and quite coveted—position.

But the letter did say that other than explaining to intendants where I would like my things deposited, I need not move or organize anything myself. That softened the blow a little.

The last line informed me that the messenger would wait for my reply. For the first time in my paltry existence, I had a footman of the king waiting on me!

Panicked, I opened my door and looked out into the open corridor. In the distance, I noticed a pair of elves ascending an open staircase to one of the dining chambers.

A tall ellon stood placidly by and only allowed his eyes to regard me for an instant before resuming his post. It was inexplicably funny. A shriek of a ridiculous giggle welled up in my throat, but I swallowed it.

"Hullo, there?" I said in a quavering voice directed at the footman.

The ellon turned to regard me with a swirl of long, clinging velvet robes. "My lady," he replied.

For a moment, I was at a loss, then said helplessly. "I understand I have been summoned. I need but a moment to collect my things, and then I will be ready. The appointed elf-kin may begin moving the larger pieces of furniture now."

He gave a slow nod and I went back inside. _Hopefully that was done correctly_ , I thought. _Or mostly correctly._

A few hours later, I sat up awkwardly in my bed, enrobed in a rich gown with the royal family's crest on it. The ceiling in my new residence was cavernous, and all of my furniture seemed to hug the walls, leaving too much space between me and my things. It was cold, and the lighting was all wrong. My music, stories, and poetry sat unstudied on a chair to my left. This place smelled different. I was utterly cowed, but nonetheless managed to fall asleep, for suddenly the birds were chirping throughout the forest canopy, and one even flew into my residence to perch on my dressing drawers, upon which it shat.

I should have recognized the omen when I saw it.

I dressed hastily and made my way to one of the main halls for some refreshment, where I took cold mint tea, Fairy Clock blossoms over a salad, and a seeded scone. Then I had to remind myself to change course and _not_ return to my former residence while I went back to collect my things.

The hall to the royal chambers was one I'd strolled past for years but never taken, and now I took it.

I was shaking.

All manner of elven-kin were clustered about the entrance, which I preferred to the stony silence I had been expecting. A few of them eyed my garb suspiciously, and I wished belatedly that I'd taken more care curating my attire over the years. I'd worn my best, but even that seemed out of place at present.

All at once I entered the main audience chamber, and was surprised by even more casual activity. My eye was drawn instantly to the King, who sat upon his carved stone chair and oversaw scroll after scroll upon a makeshift table pulled up for the purpose. Courtiers and officials had lined up to speak with him, and his intelligent eyes flitted from one elf to another, listening, nodding, and speaking quietly to them.

Around the perimeter of the chamber, others were engaged in paperwork, overseeing maps of Mirkwood and beyond. I espied a group of military generals in one corner, discussing territorial movements.

Suddenly, a sharp voice spoke out behind me, saying, "What is your purpose here, young elleth?"

I jumped nearly out of my skin, but managed to recover some of my composure. It was a member of the royal guard, denoted by the color of his robes and the fit of his open helm.

"I—I wait upon his Majesty, Thranduil King," I said lamely.

The ellon's gaze was blank as he rejoined coldly, "Don't we all."

When I realized that if I did not speak for myself, the he-elf might threaten to remove me from the premises, I drew myself up to my full height and added, "I was engaged but yesterday to act as a royal bard of the court. I have reported, as you see."

The guard seemed surprised, and another ellon—older than he, came up to join us.

"My lady," he said smoothly. "I am Ayduin, member of the Elvenking's consort. I am aware of your situation, and on behalf of the court, I welcome you to the inner circle." He shot a quick but emotionless glance to the guard, who gave a tiny salute and patrolled on, leaving us.

I looked back at Ayduin and gave him a curtsy. "I thank you, my lord," I murmured.

He smiled. "A new bard has not been selected at court in hundreds of years," he continued. "Our High King will be pleased. Come." And he motioned to lead me toward the throne.

My throat constricted convulsively, and I felt my palms become instantly damp with sweat. "Doesn't he know already?" I whispered to the he-elf, but he did not appear to hear me.

"My King," Ayduin said, and bowed to Thranduil. The courtiers and attendants clustered around the King parted to allow for our arrival. I clutched my things in front of me and endeavoured to look nonplussed.

The Elvenking stopped mid conversation, looking a trifle annoyed at the interruption. "Yes?"

"The new bard," my champion intoned, indicating me with a gesture, and then those crystal blue eyes were upon me, taking in every detail, every flaw.

I met his stare impassively for a moment, then, still clutching my music books to my chest, I dipped down into a deep, slow, respectful curtsy.

"Ah," he said distractedly. He looked at my books. "Yes. From the Solstice Celebration. You unwittingly flung a mushroom at someone, and then tried to give me food."

My heart flipped over and my cheeks positively flamed.

"Highness?" Ayduin attempted to clarify.

Thranduil did not answer him. Instead, he indicated that the table covered with sheaves of parchment be moved so that he could stand. At his full height, he towered over me. He wore his iridescent robe, the long-sleeved one, and the spikes of his crown bore summer leaves and berries. His skin was so pale, so perfect, as to appear translucent, and under thunderous, black brows, those icy eyes regarded me appraisingly.

"Welcome," he said deep in his chest, and it was a purr that resonated down to my toes.

The rest of the chamber, still full of elven courtiers, had fallen silent.

"Your Majesty," I demurred. I could not seem to tear my eyes from his.

With one long finger, he gestured at my music. "I see you have brought your own materials."

I managed a nod.

"Good," he intoned. "And we have an entire room for you to look through as well. I gathered from the performance you gave at your initiation that you might have an eye for quality. I expect you to utilize it."

"Of course, your Highness," I stammered.

He was now completely off the dais and standing on the floor beside me. His broad-shouldered warrior's frame cast a literal shadow over me in the softly-lit chamber. "Ayduin," he said quietly, and then, "Kendel. Come here."

The two elves were instantly at his side.

"Here," the Elvenking said crossly and under his breath. "She must be fitted with new robes immediately." He pointed in dismay at the fitted waist of my floor-length gown. "This is unacceptable."

They bowed silently, and one answered gently, "It shall be done."

"Good," he said. "See to it. Then bring her back here. It will be time to sup then."

I kept my eyes trained on the floor while King Thranduil criticized my clothes. Didn't they understand I had moved residences late last night? Or that I'd worked tirelessly to secure my position all the day before? Though I'd dressed quickly, the gown was among my better pieces. Just what did the court expect of me?

"Good," he was saying. "That should take about an hour. Filautris, was it?"

I looked up at him and tried to keep the reproach from my eyes. "Filauria," I corrected.

There was a small, heavy silence while a glint of amusement registered in his perfect face. "Excuse me," he said. " _Filauria_."

I continued to watch him warily. "Highness?"

"Return to these chambers as soon as you are properly attired," he said. Then, a little dangerously, he added, "And a word of advice? I would respond to whatever assignation I deign to call you by."

I curtsied again, slow and deep.

The moment was over. He turned away and I felt strangely cold. Ayduin and Kendel bustled me away to the royal tailor, and I thought to myself that elvish royalty was not so different from any of us—just significantly, nay, shockingly, more rude.


	8. Chapter 8

Shoutout to daughterofthechief! Thanks so much for your kind review and for reading! This little fanfic is creeping along slowly, but I return to it when I have time and when I need an escape. Readers, your comments literally encourage me to keep going! Enjoy!

* * *

The throne room was unusually busy that day.

Thranduil kept his jaw set and his body still, but underneath the crown, underneath all of the regalia, his neck and shoulders ached. With his eyes carefully trained on some undistinguished empty space, he thought again of her. Some years ago, he would return to his quarters after such a day and she would massage his shoulders and back… she had an ointment made of a flower she called Brown Beaks…

"Highness?" one of his intendants was asking.

He looked up at the ellon coldly. "Yes?"

"The meal is ready, Sire."

"Meal?"

"Yes, Highness. The midday meal. Will you take some food?"

Ah, yes. "Indeed. Thank you. Please invite any courtiers in attendance to join me."

The ellon bowed. "Very well, your Majesty."

Thranduil placed a long forefinger to the juncture between his dark eyebrows and glanced at the floor. He'd looked at far too many maps today. An unnatural number of maps. Why was it that when his forces were moving and trying to accomplish something, he never had enough information—but in times of relative peace, a ridiculous number of irrelevant maps seemed to grow up out of cracks in his floor?

There was a soft shuffling noise from the side corridor, and the new bard entered flanked by one of the assistant tailors.

Now, _that_ was better. This gown actually fit her. The elleth seemed uncomfortable with the way the fabric clung to her body, but she'd simply have to get used to that. The skirt trailed behind her slightly in back, and the low neckline complimented the lines of her long, lithe neck.

The Elvenking nodded his approval as she approached.

"Do you like the cut, your Majesty?" asked Irwen, the assistant tailor. The ellon's quick hands and unparalleled eye had fitted him for many an occasion, and Thranduil trusted him.

"Quite," the King agreed, eyeing the bard. "Have several made in colors to suit the skin tone, please."

Irwen bowed. "Your Majesty."

The bard was watching him. He found her gaze borderline disrespectful, but could not tell why. He chose to ignore her.

"You may go, Irwen. I trust she's not sewn into the thing. Can she perform?"

"Yes, Highness. She is fit to work. Thank you, Highness."

And the ellon left them staring at each other, with the soft noises of tables being set and pre-mealtime chatter punctuating the background.

His icy blue eyes met her warm brown ones and she lifted her chin imperceptibly. The expression irritated him.

"You look well," he said to her in clipped tones. "I'd ask how you feel, but I really don't care."

A tiny flame sprang up behind her eyes, but she mastered it. "Thank you, your Highness," she said calmly. "I appreciate the care and attention you have spared for my wardrobe."

He almost laughed. She was clever. "Will you take some refreshment?" he asked, changing the subject.

She looked momentarily confused, then smoothed her features. "I thank you, my King, but I would rather perform the office for which I was summoned."

So she was acquainted with the bardic tradition of eating at strange hours, utilizing mealtimes exclusively for entertaining royals and courtiers. He could respect that. "As you wish," he replied. "And what are we to hear for the midday meal?"

Her body instantly tensed. She was one of the more expressive elleths he'd seen, Thranduil decided. The exchange was over almost immediately, but for a moment he watched her wrestle with two choices—asking the King's pleasure, he guessed, or declaring and performing her own selection. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth.

In the end she decided to simply announce her selection, rather than asking him for a suggestion—the stronger choice.

The dining tables were moved into place, and servers from the kitchen began to flood the throne room. They didn't always sup like this—only on busy days at court, and then only for small groups of courtiers. The spread was good. Thranduil never found fault with the kitchens. As he nibbled on fresh forest strawberries, biscuits, cheeses and smoked meat, he allowed his mind to relax.

The bard—Felicia, was it? did well.

She did not betray any of the nerves he was sure troubled her. She turned out three selections back to back, all technically proficient, and all well-suited to mealtime conversation. He hated it when a performer chose music intended for a captive audience when the occasion was inherently social. Then guests would whisper and feel uncomfortable speaking over the music.

An attendant brought him some asparagus with shaved sheep's cheese and ash salt. He bit into the tender vegetables and allowed his mind to relax a bit.

He found that his elven brethren stared at him constantly. The new bard divided their attentions and drew away some of the intense scrutiny, allowing for some relief. He'd never tell her that, though. Thranduil believed in the power of criticism as a motivator.

When the meal was finished, he wiped his lips delicately and stood. At his motion, several of the more animated conversations stilled.

"Thank you, my dear," he said loftily to the bard. "A brave first try."

The elleth colored faintly at his comment. He heard a snicker from somewhere in the room but ignored it.

"Do come back tomorrow afternoon," Thranduil continued. "I am entertaining some dignitaries from Lorien. And don't trouble yourself over material. I will make the selections this time."

She gave him a respectful curtsey before leaving the room. And then he promptly forgot about her.

* * *

Enough, I thought to myself. That was enough.

As soon as I could, I fled the court and went to my residence, where I angrily ripped off the snug gown the court tailor had given me to wear. It was hot, and tight, and itchy. I didn't feel like myself at all. I felt self-conscious about the music I'd chosen for the midday meal—should I have let the Elvenking pick? It didn't matter. I was spent.

I buried my head in my pillow and screamed.

Then, face and chest flushed, I threw on whatever clothing my hand happened to light on and left Mirkwood Court proper.

It felt wonderful to be out in the cool twilight.

The forest was singing with buzzing insects, songbirds, and the gentle rush of hidden streams. My feet moved quietly along the path, only crunching on the occasional twig or leaf. I sought what I had come to think of as my tree—a marvelous Sap Maple just North of Thranduil's palace.

When I was in training and new to the court, I would come here. The way the maple changed with the seasons was comforting to me somehow, and mirrored the way I seemed to be developing and morphing—always a slightly different elleth with every visit. What was I in this iteration? I felt just as young, small, and insignificant as the first time I'd come to the Mirkwood.

As the tree came into sight, I quickened my step. Underneath its boughs was a cushion of soft, shady loam, and I sank into it gratefully, leaning against the rough bark of the tree trunk. Just ahead, a small tributary to the Cinwe River flowed along, the last pale rays of the setting sun glinting off the waterlogged stones. The sound of it was comforting, and secure in my anonymity, I finally lowered all my defenses.

I wept.

I missed my mother. I wondered if I would ever fit in at court. I dreaded being dismissed, and feared that somehow—despite my best efforts—dismissal would come to be my fate.

The royal bard was a coveted position according to hearsay. But why? Now that I was finally at court, up close—the whole thing seemed a nightmare. A carefully tailored, perfectly groomed, well-fed nightmare.

One of the things that bothered me the most was my uncharacteristically emotional reaction. In the moment, I had found the King to be unspeakably rude. He was toying with me, I knew, and just for the pure enjoyment of it. But if I tried to discern just what had disturbed me, I found to my frustration that all of it was contextual. He was subtle… and I had nothing of significance to reproach him with.

And beyond all that, what did it matter? Rude or not, he was the Elvenking. His behaviors, strange or cruel, must necessarily be tolerated. Oh, I knew that were he to stray into the realm of physical abuse, the council would intervene, but somehow that seemed unlikely.

I wiped at the hot tears with my sodden sleeve and continued to cry softly. I felt so lost.

A sound brought me out of my reverie and I jumped to my feet.

"Lady Filauria?"

The voice was gentle and concerned, and I dabbed hastily at my face, hoping my eyes weren't too swollen.

Prince Legolas was there, tapping at my elbow gently.

I was mortified and moved to scramble away.

"Lady!" he exclaimed. "You are distressed."

He was garbed for hunting, with a leather jerkin and leggings. His formidable bow was strung across his back, and he set these and his quiver down in the soft dirt beside us. His silken hair was pulled back in a half-tail, with tiny rope braids over each ear. His body radiated heat, and I guessed he had been out for most of the day.

"I am fine," I assured him. "Just tired."

"Are you hurt?"

"No," I laughed. "Nothing like that. Thank you for your concern, my Prince."

Prince Legolas frowned at me, then scanned my body—ostensibly for bruises or blood. Finding none, he urged me to sit once more while he searched himself for a handkerchief. "Please," he said gently, sitting down beside me. "Tell me what troubles you. Perhaps I can assist you in some way."

I hesitated. This was tricky. Complaining at all about Thranduil King could be taken as insubordination, or worse, treason. How much did I dare to say?

"As I said, my Prince," I said. "I am only a little tired."

His frank look made me smile tremulously and cave in.

With a sigh, I continued, "It was my first day at court as royal bard, and…" I could feel the traitorous tears begin to fill my eyes once more. "... I did the best I could, but…"

The Prince gave a sigh of his own. "Ah, yes," he said. "Father was a bit hard on you?"

I was careful not to respond, keeping my eyes straight ahead, but he probably read my posture for confirmation.

"I hate it when he does that," Legolas went on. "He doesn't mean to be horrible to servants… he just…" The Prince thought for a moment. "He likes to test them. To see how far they'll stretch. It seems mean-spirited, but I promise it's short lived."

I wiped my nose indelicately. "So I just need to stick to it?" I asked. "Wait him out?"

The Prince was tracing a pattern absently in the dirt beside us. "No, not really… How do I put it?" He squinted up through the leaves of the maple tree at the last vestiges of sunlight before nightfall. "The King enjoys elves who are—reactionary. He provokes those he thinks he can move in some way. The best advice I can give you is to stand up to him. He'll respect you for it, and it shames him a little too—though he usually pretends not to mind."

I shook my head in amazement. Anyone would think our sovereign a little elfling—not a monarch hundreds of years old.

He produced a handkerchief and handed it to me. I took it, and blew my nose.

The sun dipped down below the mountains then, and the two of us were bathed in cold after-light. For some reason, the idea that we were alone together outside of court made me suddenly uneasy. The Prince seemed to sense it and climbed slowly to his feet.

"May I escort you back through the Greenwood?" he asked.

I gave him a reassuring smile and noticed as his eyes dropped to settle on my mouth. "I thank you, but no," I told him. "This is one of my favorite places. I come here when my fëa is weary. I just need to collect my thoughts and I will return to court shortly."

Though I found his presence a comfort, I was relieved when he gave me a nod and turned to go.

Then he stopped.

"Lady," he said carefully. "I offer you my sincere friendship. I am a reliable and willing confidant. If ever you have need of an ally in Mirkwood, I will perform the office."

I met his eyes.

It was an unusual thing to say to a bard. I skirted the line between courtier and servant, true, but there was enough in my background to render me hopelessly beneath him socially.

"My hand on it," he added, removing one of his hunting gloves.

He offered me his outstretched palm, and I took it unthinkingly—he was a monarch in waiting, after all. It was pure reflex to obey him. But his hand was calloused and warm, and when my fingers met his, a spark of excitement ignited in me and pooled in my lower belly. I wondered if he felt it too.

"Thank you," I said stupidly.

He bowed to me. _He_ bowed to _me…_ and then he left me to my own thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

I was able to finish another chapter last night. I have to confess I'm not plotting very far in advance! This project is turning out to be very soothing and cathartic for me, a safe place to retreat when my own life feels out of control. I should give a gentle warning here—this section contains naked ellith in the public baths! Nothing too graphic. Enjoy, and let me know what you'd like to see happen next!

* * *

The next day, I was shown into the utter mayhem that comprised the royal musicians' library.

I had heard much of it, but the room and its contents were obviously confidential and remained hidden from the public at all times. It turned out to be located down an inner hall close to the throne room, halfway to his Majesty Thranduil King's apartments. I had only been past it once and had assumed it was a broom closet.

"Here we are…" Ayduin intoned cheerfully, unlocking the door for me. Then he added a disappointed "Oh," when the door didn't open.

I waited while the ellon shoved his leg awkwardly through the gap, attempting to kick at whatever was in our way. A spectacular crash! followed, accompanied by a tiny gust that might have been a formidable stack of papers toppling to the ground. When Ayduin was finally able to push the door inward, I was surprised. And disgusted.

A set of wooden stairs led immediately down into some recessed chamber I couldn't see very clearly, and the large stack of papers—left unwisely just at the top stoop—had been scattered all over the place. It would take weeks of work to set them right. And that wasn't all. Several of the steps were littered with papers and sheets of music, some with actual footprints on them, suggesting someone had seen the pieces of parchment out of place and not only left them that way, but trod upon them as well.

Ayduin helpfully lit the flameless torches along the wall and we carefully descended down into the library proper. The room was hexagonally-shaped with a modestly tiled floor—filthy, of course. The shelves spanned two stories. I was about to ask my tour guide how on middle earth I was to reach the less accessible storage areas when I spied a rolling ladder fashioned of wood leaning up against one shelf wall.

There were diverse cubbies and cavities where tomes might be stacked, stuffed, and stored. And it was all mightily out of hand.

"Well," he said desperately.

"Well," I said with a marked air of judgement.

The ellon shifted uncomfortably. "As I have said, we haven't engaged an actual bard in quite a while now. Anyone with access to this room has had neither the training nor inclination to keep it well-organized. You're the first in a very long time."

I nodded slowly, taking in a deep, dusty breath and gazing at the chaos around me. I felt out of place at court anyway, and now I was garbed in a floor-length, figure-hugging royal gown encrusted with tiny crystal beads. And I was expected to put this monstrosity in order dressed this way.

"We're really very grateful to have you, you know," Ayduin continued. "The King is very particular about vocal tone, and, uh… has been critical of past applicants. You should know that he was very taken with your voice."

I spared the ellon a furtive glance. _That's interesting_ , I thought.

"Will you be requiring anything else from me this morning, my lady?" he asked me.

I looked down at my hands. "I'm concerned about ruining my gown. It's very dusty down here."

"Oh, that," he said absently. "Just do your best. The King wishes for you to be dressed this way if he happens to encounter you. And don't worry; if the dress is damaged, we'll simply have a new one made for you."

I felt my eyebrows rise in protest but I mastered them. "As you wish," I said concedingly.

"Oh, good." Ayduin seemed relieved. "I'll just leave you to it then."

And he did.

The flameless torches guttered a bit, and so did I. They really were very striking—the little sconces fitted with glowing, jewel-like stones. It was an old, carefully guarded elven secret. My brethren used conventional torches wherever needed, but if books, maps, music or papers were involved, we lit the rooms with these unusual stones. Servants charged them by moonlight once or twice a month, and they lasted beautifully.

I knelt and picked up the first sheaf of parchment that my hand touched. It was textured with grit that came away on my hands. I shook it off impatiently and began looking for any accompanying pages.

There was one very interesting piece of music I noticed while cleaning. The whole thing was contained in only one page titled Heart's Path. It looked to be a tricky sort of melody, very old indeed. I set it aside for later.

Within a few hours, I had part of the floor cleared away. I had organized some of the music by name and stacked the pieces neatly under the staircase where they would be out of the way. I'd worry about shelving them later. Ostensibly, each and every shelf would need to be purged and reorganized.

My stomach was just beginning to gurgle when I heard a noise at the top of the stairs.

"It's me," Ayduin said companionably. "I've brought you some food and water… my goodness! Look at what you've managed to do already!"

I smiled wearily up at him. Some of my hair had come loose from my plaits and fallen about my face, and I smoothed the strands away from my cheeks to receive him.

The ellon had brought a tray of cold meats, cheeses, bread, and fruit. I sank down gratefully on the tiled floor and tucked in, downing the cold goblet of water first. "Thank you," I breathed. "That tastes wonderful."

He smiled. I beckoned for him to join me, but he declined. "Take your time, of course," he said kindly. "You may decide this is enough organization for one day. Supper will be in a few hours, and I expect his Majesty will want some entertainment. After a project like this, I wouldn't think the less of you for taking a well-deserved nap!"

I frowned. "So I don't need to finish tonight?"

Ayduin laughed heartily. "Of course not! This will take weeks to put right, if not months. Really, do not overexert yourself. Above all, you must be in peak physical condition. You're a performer first."

I nodded, chewing. That was good to know. I felt a little less like a prisoner down in this forgotten chamber and a little more like a young ellith doing her grandfather a favor by deep-cleaning his study. Not important by any means, but not quite a slave.

In the end, I decided to stay an hour or so longer and tidy up before leaving for my chambers.

* * *

He had left the throne room to dress for the evening, and though it was still light out, Thranduil felt chilled and a little numb.

For the millionth time, his mind wandered back to her.

He had to journey across time and space to do it, but he finally encountered her sitting on the edge of their shared bed, fiddling with some bit of jewelry about her neck and smiling up at him. Oh, but he ached for her. He loved the little stolen moments just before the evening meal at court. The two of them would unwind together, allaying the stress of the day. Then they'd dress to please each other alone, and go out arm in arm to preside over the rest of Mirkwood…

He was startled suddenly by a noise on his right.

Thranduil was annoyed at first rather than alarmed. The King of the Mirkwood Realm simply did not startle. Ever. He was capable enough of defending himself against even the most venerable of foes. He suspected it was the surprise of the intrusion. This was a private hallway, and so close to his own chamber… _it had better be Ayduin or Kendel_ , he thought ferociously, poised to round on whoever it was, whoever _dared_ to be there at that particular time.

Then his eyes adjusted.

It was only the door to the music library, and the new bard was just emerging wearily from downstairs.

He'd forgotten all about her. That new, awkward little thing with the brown doe eyes.

She lifted those eyes to his at almost the same moment he noticed her.

She was wearing light green today, the little crystals on her gown glinting in what was left of the evening sunset leaking in through the skylights. He would probably have been smugly satisfied with the superb fit and fine quality of the dress if she were not in such absolute disarray.

Amused, he studied her. She must have been down in the library for most of the day. He remembered then that he'd asked her to organize all of the court music. She was covered in dust, and a few errant streaks of dirt marred her petite face, lending a striking contrast to her soft, brown eyes.

Say something, he told himself. The silence seemed to stretch longer and longer between them. She would think him odd. A manic peal of laughter rose in his throat out of nowhere and he swallowed it down. Ostensibly, she already thought him odd, as did the rest of the kingdom.

The sight of her was so unexpected, so very casual—a deep and hidden part of him found it… domestic, in a way. Perhaps even comforting.

And her eyes! She kept staring at him, and Valar, he couldn't seem to look away… she was altogether arresting, which was ridiculous considering her state of dress.

Something about the encounter impressed upon him the reality of her, the immediacy of her. He'd treated her like the lowest of servants. She _was_ the lowest of servants, when it came to that. But she was also an elleth grown, with all of the features and presence that came with it. Without the pomp of courtiers and chaperones around to witness, it was blindingly apparent.

The King was just upbraiding himself for failing to speak when the young elleth dropped her eyes and murmured, "Excuse me, your Highness. I was just going to dress for dinner. Is there any particular color you would like to see me wear this evening?"

His response was a sharp intake of breath.

Thranduil looked away from her then. It was so like something he had been accustomed to hearing at that time of day that his eyes filled briefly. He shook his head and cleared them instantly, hoping she hadn't seen.

"Not at all," he replied softly. "And yes. The—the gold. Please."

She curtsied deeply and was gone.

Before moving on toward his apartments, he stared at nothing for a few moments, his heart breaking all over again.

* * *

It felt lovely to be out of that cavernous pit. There was just enough fading sunlight left to warm my chilled skin, and I looked eagerly forward to bathing the grime from my body.

It had been embarrassing to run into the King on my way, but I shrugged, supposing I had better get used to it. We were sure to cross paths with more frequency the longer I remained in his employ. If it was the state of my clothes that made me uneasy—well, he had ordered that. If the King desired for me to dress as a princess of Mirkwood but fulfill the duties of the lowliest chamber maid while doing so… well, then—this was the result. He could just deal with the sight of me.

It had been a strange interaction. I was still a little frightened of him. He was so tall, so imposing and stern. I'd expected a jibe or a disapproving glare at the very least, but he'd been silent. He looked tired this evening, a bit dazed.

Not for the first time that week, I wondered just what it was that kings actually _do_. I'd find out soon enough.

My chambers had been tidied and swept, and a new set of tailored gowns bloomed from my closet. They must have been delivered while I was working. I glanced about, briefly considering calling for servants to bring boiled water and salts for a bath in my copper tub. Then I decided against in. It was too much work, somehow. I pulled a sleek dressing robe from among my things and set off for the baths.

Our enclave was comparably small, but the public baths were always in use. I relished coming here. I made sure to take the entrance on the right side—the one meant for my sex.

The water was naturally heated by hot springs in the ground, and the asymmetrical pools were all edged with carved marble and slate. Throughout the week, bath attendants tenderly saw to the ferns and broad-leafed hostas that studded the area. In the damper corners of the walls and carved steps, soft piles of moss grew, floating in the gentle waves generated by bathers.

It was quiet. A few ellith lounged about, enjoying the heat and steam that rose lazily from the surface of the water. I disrobed, leaving my gown carefully spread across an ancient stone bench that stood obligingly by. Then, completely nude, I walked slowly down the rough stone steps and into the heated water.

It was delicious. I paddled at the surface of the water with my hand as I went, enjoying the weight of it as it nobbled through my fingers. Then I allowed my knees to buckle, submerging myself entirely and breathing out heavily through my nose as I did so. I reemerged slowly, smoothing my long brown hair away from my forehead. Oh, lovely!

"Filauria!" someone cried softly.

I turned, smiling to see my friend Chalia Ravaxalim swimming her way toward me. The water came up to my chest here, and I could see her breasts as she moved below the rippling water.

"Good evening," I said warmly to her. She reached me and we embraced, the feel of our naked bodies a pleasant sensation as we pressed up against one another. Then she affectionately moved the heavy wetness of my hair back over one shoulder for me.

Chalia was older than I was. She'd had her coming out ceremony one rotation before mine, and we'd spent time together practicing at music, dancing, even gardening. Her hair was a muddy brown, her eyes a brilliant green.

"I heard things went well the other day," she was saying.

I laughed softly. "Good," I said. "Because that wasn't my impression at all." I told her briefly about the selections I had picked and the court's reaction. I decided on impulse to leave the King out of it.

"Those are all good pieces," she reassured me. "And I know your voice. I'm sure it was stunning. Your talent is peerless."

I hugged her again. "Valar bless you for the compliment! But how are you? How is the garden?" Chalia had a magical little terrace garden just outside her quarters, full of herbs and lush shade plants. We'd spent many a leisurely afternoon there together.

"Growing well," she replied, idly splashing at a bug that had chanced to fall into the water. Then she frowned slightly, distracted by something.

"Chalia?" I asked appraisingly. "What was that thought?"

She sighed. "You always know, don't you?"

I smoothed the soft skin on her forearms and pressed her further. "Is this about the King's guard again?"

We had talked a season before about Chalia joining up. She'd agonized over the decision and then ultimately decided against it. "I'm wondering now if I made a mistake," she said quietly. "Others don't feel safe in the forest anymore. Thranduil will not take the fight to the dangerous creatures roaming our lands, which makes me feel that the only way to protect our people is to bolster defences."

I worried at my lower lip. Chalia took a long time weighing the consequences of any decision she needed to make, but once she acted, she was implacable.

Plenty of ellith served in the Mirkwood patrol; they were just as strong and capable as the ellyn.

"I want to talk about this more, really," I told her. "But now I need to dress and go back to court. Can we sup tomorrow morning together?"

She nodded, shaking the feeling off. "Of course. I wouldn't wish to keep you tonight."

I hugged her once more, then moved to leave the water. As I reached shallower ground, the shining drops began to rush from my naked body. "Tomorrow," I called back over my shoulder.

"Tomorrow," she echoed in answer.


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, Chalia and I breakfasted together as promised. Her quarters were as charming as I remembered them to be, terrace garden and all. We dined on forest morels cooked in fresh butter and sage, chicken sausages with fruit, and cinnamon tea.

She told me right away that her decision _not_ to make a decision regarding joining the King's guard was eating away at her.

"You heard what happened a week ago, I'm sure," she said under her breath.

"No," I cried, leaning forward. I had been so absorbed in my own life; coming out, getting settled at court, that I'd managed to shut everything else out. "What has happened?"

Chalia regarded me seriously. "The—attack? You didn't hear?"

A sudden chill walked up my spine. "What do you mean?"

"Two ellith went missing just before the Summer Solstice. Little ones; babies," Chalia added. "Only just walking and talking. It wasn't spoken of much. You know how the royal family likes to preserve a celebration." And she rolled her eyes.

It seemed a little ungenerous to me, but I indicated she should continue.

"They were found recently. Or rather, their bodies were found."

I sprang up, covering my mouth with a pale hand. "What?"

Chalia was nodding sadly, tears standing in her eyes. "It was the spiders, Fil. They were abducted and debased by spiders. They'd been drained of blood. Who knows what happened to their fëa!"

I felt breathless, like I'd been kicked in the chest. "So young?" I demanded. "And this happened _before_ the Summer Solstice, and no one said anything? Why weren't we all informed?"

She shrugged.

"This is a small enclave," I continued. "And we don't allow the young ones very far from their quarters. That means the beasts were very close."

"Too close," she agreed. "The guard does not go out to hunt them any more. I fear they have multiplied. I had a chance at one point, Fil—not only to join the guard, but to work in a leadership capacity. If I did it now, perhaps I could influence others to do the right thing."

I sank slowly back down, pressing her hand with my own. "I would have you preserve your own life, of course," I told her warmly, "But do what you feel you must, my friend, and I will support you."

That afternoon, I took a leisurely walk and then returned to my quarters to dress. It seemed so odd now to have dozens of choices waiting for me in my wardrobe—and each time I opened it, the selection seemed to grow! I could help thinking wistfully of my sister for a moment, wondering if she would be impressed by my new position at court.

Then I banished her from my mind. _Later,_ I told myself. _Too much to do just now._

The gold dress Thranduil King had requested was cut much like the others, with the same sweeping neckline and weighty quality that would help it to cling to my curves. The sleeves were a little different, though. Draped, sort of. As were many of the other pieces I was fortunate enough to call my own, this one was studded with tiny beads. I recalled suddenly my King asking 'The gold—please,' in that peculiar way, as though he were choking on something—or trying not to laugh at me! How odd he was.

I donned the dress and arrayed myself with some simple jewelry, then lined my eyes with deep brown paint for a final touch. The elves don't wear much in the way of cosmetics, and when we do, we are careful and sparing. I had heard from others that my eyes were my best feature, and so I tried to exaggerate the look of them when I had the chance.

On the way out of my quarters, my gaze happened to light on that dusty old sheet of music I'd chanced to find in the library— _Heart's Path._ I took it up and hummed it to myself as I walked the airy corridors. It was beautiful—but so short! In the time it took me to leave my own residence hall, I had committed it to memory.

The Mirkwood was murmuring tonight. The silvery swishes of the breeze seemed to whisper, _Ware, beware, be aware, be wary…_ and I shivered to hear it. What Chalia had told me still chilled the blood in my veins; those elven children stolen from our halls, savaged by spiders and then destroyed. Out in the very wood that sang to me now. It couldn't be borne. Something would have to be done.

 _Later, Filauria!_ I insisted to myself, bringing my focus back to the task at hand just as an attendant drew open to doors of the audience chamber.

Alarmed at the already boisterous sounds of conversation, I realized the King and his courtiers were already dining. Was I late?

But Ayduin glided over to me, clasping my hand in warm welcome.

"Good evening, my dear," he said. At the look on my face, he quickly added, "Not to worry—it is to be an early dinner tonight. We'll wait until the last course and then just a song or two should do it. In the meantime, please seat yourself and we'll bring you some repast."

I was relieved, but on my guard. There was a small contingent of musician in one corner, talking as they supped. I hesitantly approached them.

As I drew near, I heard one of the ellith speaking of the upcoming annual visit from the Lorien elves.

Several of them turned to look at me, and I recognized a young elleth I'd met on the evening of the summer solstice celebration. She smiled warmly at me and I felt less silly and alien.

"Filauria?" she asked. "I remember you. You just came out, didn't you?"

I nodded shyly as the others made room for me.

"I'm Anhely," she offered, and I gave her a slight curtsy before sitting. "You've managed to get a wonderful position," the elleth continued. "And right away! Congratulations."

"Thank you," I replied. "I'm still getting accustomed to the way things are done in the inner court. It's very new."

"To be expected," an ellon holding a goblet casually in one hand chimed in. Then he lowered his voice surreptitiously; "Our illustrious monarch has particular tastes."

Some of them laughed, and another elleth shushed him.

I ate very lightly, and drank plenty of water. When the meal was nearly over, I caught Ayduin nodding at me from across the room. I cleared my throat silently and came to my feet in what I hoped was a graceful manner.

During dinner, I'd convinced one of my new acquaintances to let me borrow his lute. He handed it over to me now, and I took it and made my way to the center of the room.

Once those in attendance noticed me striding purposefully forth to prepare, a respectful applause broke out. I forced myself not to glance about in confusion, but acknowledged the gesture with a simple nod of my head.

The part of my mind that wasn't engaged in self-criticism or intellectual preparation wondered if the courtiers had recognized me, or if somehow one of the pieces I'd offered so far at court had been better received than I'd realized. Was it possible—that I had supporters here?

Thranduil had finished his meal and was sipping leisurely at a goblet of something. He raise a languid had in casual greeting at me and I curtsied low, holding the lute by the neck at my side.

Then I brought the instrument up and stroked the strings a few times—quietly. I hadn't thought about this part and hoped that the borrowed lute wouldn't need to be tuned too badly.

I listened with a trained ear.

No, that was all right. I could work with that. Of course the court musicians would exhibit the utmost care when it came to their trade—we were in Mirkwood, after all!

I struck up a chord on the lute and raised my head to sing.


	11. Chapter 11

I wanted to take a moment to thank daughterofthechief and Raider-K (!) for reviewing my piece! I love it when people read my stories, and I'm thrilled to receive any comments, including critiques. This story is obviously for fans of LOTR, but it's also for me—giving me a chance to play with characters, dialogue, and a truly remarkable universe. Thanks for your patience and advice, Raider-K, as I experiment with the characters' POVs; it's pretty gratuitous and I'm constantly looking for the juiciest way to show what's happening. I checked you out and I've read many of your stories! I'm honored you would read mine!

One more note—I've been a little self-conscious about the length of the chapters. I know conventional chapters ought to be between 3,000 and 5,000 words long, and mine are short comparatively. But I find that in the iPhone FanFiction app, they still read quite well, so I'm going to keep them this way for now. Perhaps at some point I'll go in and rework them. In the mean time, I'm going to spill out the story. Here's Chapter 11: Enjoy!

* * *

Right away, I knew something was wrong. After only a few notes, I noticed the Elvenking raise his head sharply and stare at me out of my periphery.

There were a few gasps from courtiers as well.

Unnerved, I kept playing and when I had finished the introduction, I took a breath to sing.

* * *

As soon as he heard the opening few notes, Thranduil knew. The song was forever emblazoned on his soul. He knew he would never make it through the piece. He knew that the evening would most likely end in the fiery wreckage of his own untenable emotions.

He hadn't heard that song since—

The elleth's sweet voice began to fill the chamber, and those first few lyrics undid him.

 _Winding, weaving, is the way to your heart_

 _Straying, striving, is the track_

 _Though the waves of life wash us ever apart_

 _This promise I hold pulls me back—_

She was poised to continue, but Thranduil stood then with an alacrity that was savage. He realized his hands were balled into fists and forced himself to unclench them.

Vaguely, he registered a few courtiers and attendants inquiring of him what could be wrong, while others watched in shocked horror.

Ayduin was shaking his head in panic. He knew, at least. Oh, he knew very well.

The elleth had stopped and was looking up at him with uncertainty in her dark eyes.

"Don't," the King warned the bard with murder in his voice. "You must stop this at once. I command you to leave immediately."

Scandalized murmurs began to rise from all present.

Her mouth fell open in surprise, and suddenly, the rest of the audience chamber melted away and the two of them stood as if engulfed in a blurring mist. She lowered the instrument, sparing it a glance that was almost accusatory.

"Why?" she blurted suddenly, looking back at him. "What have I done?"

He gave her a hard look, then turned away from her, declining to answer.

"Come back!" she cried.

And several murmuring voices came through the misty veil that cradled them, and Thranduil came back to himself, stalking away. Out, and away from that place. Seeking refuge, safety.

Everyone was too stunned to stop the elleth as she pursued him out of the chamber and into his private hall, still carrying the borrowed lute.

He was angry.

His long, silken and velvet robes whipped out behind him as he walked the corridors, and he could feel his face flushing, feel the burn of the dragon's mark upon his cheek once more as if it had happened all over again.

This was painful—to feel. It seared him in places light hadn't been allowed to penetrate for years. He hadn't _felt_ anything in so long. He hadn't allowed himself to. It put him in mind of those first agonizing pricks in the skin when an appendage has gone to sleep and then been harshly stimulated without warning.

Why now? And why tonight? What was she trying to _do_ to him?

"Stop," she cried, still pursuing him, and he rounded on her. He hated the way the bard shrank back from him in fear, as though he were some wild animal.

"You shouldn't be here," he snarled derisively at her.

"I may be here if I wish," she shot back with feigned defiance. She glanced toward the door to the underground music library and he realized a bit guiltily that she was right. Filauria was indeed allowed access to this hallway.

He turned to go, disgusted with her, but she reached out impulsively with one hand to grip the sleeve of his trailing velvet robe. The sudden movement pulled it from his shoulder and the Elvenking stared down at it in disbelief.

She dared— _dared_. To touch him. Without permission.

Filauria realized what she had done—too late.

She removed her hand and pulled it back to herself as though from the heat of a burning flame. Then; "I don't understand!" she said with conviction. "Why do you treat me this way?"

His voice was low, dangerous. "Why do _I_ —?"

"In the audience chamber," she interjected, her voice trembling. She let go of the lute, the end of which already rested on the floor, and it dropped harmlessly and lay still. "Why did you stop me?" she added. "I don't understand!"

The tension between them snapped crisply like a live, palpable thing.

He tore his gaze from hers. "That song is forbidden," he muttered.

Her incredulity manifested in a humorless, barking laugh. " _Forbidden_? A _forbidden_ song? That's a bit dramatic for a monarch hundreds of years old with a well-respected kingdom, excellently appointed officials, citizens who look up to you, and a son who wishes desperately to please you."

The last part of her impassioned speech took him by surprise, but he masked it with more anger; a trusted tactic of his that always delivered results.

"You know nothing," he spat at her, leaning close to bare his teeth.

 _Mine. Wounded. Don't touch,_ was the feral echo in his blood.

When the elleth's eyes widened in fear as he loomed over her, he thought of how tall he must seem, how frightening. The forest crown with its sharp points, his swirling robes, his broad shoulders and gleaming silvery blond locks—all served to intimidate. Elves he could intimidate were easier to control.

She gave an involuntary squeak and shrank from him.

He drew back but kept his icy blue gaze fixed on her. "Yes," he said nastily. " _A forbidden song_. What exactly is your game, elleth? I do not allow it played in my court! My councillors know this—many courtiers as well!"

"Well, _I_ didn't know it!" she cried in righteous anger. "You cannot punish me for something I was unaware of!"

Thranduil gave a cruel laugh. "I may punish whomever I wish," he said. "Ignorance is always punishable. Do you not see what you've done? You, a royal bard, have not bothered to observe the King's own preferences with respect to your very profession. You may not have known—but that is irrelevant. You should have. You should have known."

He drew a breath, readied his weapon, and struck terribly true. His words were clipped, vicious. "Your self-importance is unattractive," he said. "Your talent is mediocre. Your ignorance—deplorable. I am your King, and you have made it abundantly, embarrassingly clear tonight that you know nothing about me."

She took a breath that was a heartbroken sob, then cried, "I'm trying!" in such plaintive tones that it stunned him. Her large brown eyes had filled with glittering tears.

 _Crying?_ he thought in grotesque fascination. The display of emotion horrified him a little. _Was that still done? Could anyone still have the emotional reserves to actually weep?_ He certainly did not. And regardless of his burning intent to hurt her, he didn't think he could endure watching her cry. She really was a pretty little thing.

There was a moment of silence while her exclamation hung in the air between them.

Filauria squared her shoulders and lifted her head to look him in the eye. Fire. There was fire in her visage. When she blinked, some of the unshed tears spilled over and wet her cheeks.

His conscience smote him. Perhaps he'd gone too far. Perhaps.

Then she did something that surprised him. Furrowing her brow as though listening to some silent directive, she took half a step back from the Elvenking, and then slowly knelt before him.

From under cold black brows, he followed her as she dropped to her knees.

With her attention fixed on the stone floor, the elleth blinked away her remaining tears and did her best to regulate her breathing. The lyricism of the gesture, her flushed chest, the perfect cut of her gown—it all took his breath away.

"My King," she said in a strange, quavering voice. "I humbly—" and here, she raised her bright eyes to his. " _Beg_ —your forgiveness. I didn't know my selection would upset you. I found the song _Heart's Path_ when I was working in the music library, discarded and trod upon. I was enchanted by it."

The youth elleth lifted a hand to wipe at her still damp cheeks, swallowed, and continued.

"It was so beautiful, and I learned it quickly. I wanted to share it. With you."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. Would this elleth ever do anything conventional? So far, he had no idea what to expect from her. He doubted he ever would.

"If I exhibit self-importance, I will school myself," she added. "If my talent does not impress, I shall strive to work harder. And if I am ignorant, I implore you to teach me. I am yours to command."

Filauria bowed her head to him.

It had indeed upset him. How could she see that, as carefully as he'd hidden it?

A moment or two passed. The corridor was silent, and so far, no one in the audience chamber had moved to seek out either of them.

"It was my wife's favorite," he said quietly. The King wasn't sure why he divulged this information to her in particular, and so personally, but it seemed correct somehow. "I can't… _stand_ to hear it," he finished lamely. He hoped she didn't hear the note of agony pervading his voice.

She looked up at him then. He expected a pitying glance, but she regarded him impassively—listening, he realized. He respected her for that.

"Then I am truly sorry," she replied. "And you shall never hear it from me again."

Slowly, the Elvenking extended a hand to her.

She simply regarded it for a moment without moving, then seemed to decide something and reached to take it. He helped the young elleth to her feet, and as their hands touched, a flame kindled deep within his chest. He nearly gasped in surprise but managed to keep silent.

She was tiny, her fingers soft and warm. She bit her lip, reddening it as she stood—too close to him, almost—and he reminded himself to release her.

After a moment, he pulled the sleeve of his robe back into place, and she looked politely away.

"You have my pardon," he told her huskily. "And my apology. I admit that I overreacted; it was wrong."

Without thinking, he tipped her chin upward with two long fingers and met her gaze. "I will make it right," he promised.

A pretty blush suffused her cheeks, and he pulled away from her, wondering if he had erred. But she drew herself up and made him a deep curtsy, picked up her fallen instrument, then turned and left him alone in the hallway.

He watched her retreat.


	12. Chapter 12

Note: This chapter contains more naked ellith in baths and increased... _steaminess_. I've decided to make some of my elves pansexual, because it's an AU and it pleases me to do so. Carry on!

* * *

The evening had utterly exhausted me. I'd never dreamed when I'd found the arcane piece of music in the library that it might have been so beloved by the late queen. Wearily, I floated like a ghost back to my quarters, pulled open the heavy door, and went in.

Once again I noticed the cold spaciousness of my new apartments. Everything was pristine. Tidy, clean. _I have servants now_ , I reminded myself incoherently.

I walked to my dressing mirror to peer in at myself.

The elleth who looked back at me seemed depleted, with haunted eyes and pale skin. I reserved judgement, deciding to be kind to her, as not many others seemed inclined to do so.

The King. The Elvenking. Thranduil King, Son of Oropher. Again and again, his image came unbidden to my mind, and I wondered if I'd been too subservient, too cowed by him. But the Prince had encouraged me to fight for myself, and I had. Valar forgive me, I had. I recalled my shaking hand clutching at the edge of his robes and lowered my aching head into my hands.

My body felt numb with fatigue, and I obeyed when it led me to the large bed and sank down. There was a warm silken blanket artfully arranged on top of the coverlet and I took hold of it, cradling myself in the pleasant texture of it. Thus arrayed, and even in my long, studded gown, I fell quickly into sleep and knew no more.

* * *

Prince Legolas found a joy when engaged in archery that he was hard pressed to explain to anyone else. He had heard peers and elders exclaim over his abilities, so he knew on some level that his gifts on the subject were unusual, but he never thought of that—he simply dwelt on his love of the strongbow taut in his hands, the deadly grace of his arrows, and the beauty of movement as he worked.

On this particular morning, he had a late summer breeze to contend with. No—to _play_ with. For it was always a challenge, a pleasure, to discern the given conditions of each day and then adapt his exercises to work with them and not against them.

The practice range situated at the edge of the Mirkwood Court was unparalleled.

He knew cognitively that many ranges were comprised simply of standing targets. _How boring it must seem_! he thought in amusement.

Not so here. Here, a rambling, complicated set of wooden structures had been built—it was a maze, really, diverse in its height and makeup—and targets large and small had been arranged in both obvious and surprising places. Many of them had been hung and were meant to be undulating, swinging, or otherwise moving. Some were impossible to hit unless the warrior lay prone or hung upside-down from one of the support beams. He loved it, loved coming here of a morning and practicing alone for hours until his shoulders ached and his arms trembled from the strain.

He did wonder at times if it might be updated. Or if he might find a new range in another city that might challenge him even more—for he knew this one so well by now, knew its secrets—that it seemed he cheated whenever he practiced there.

This morning, he wore a fine leather jerkin and his favorite vambraces. His fine blond hair had been braided back into a warrior's tail. At the slight stirring of an early breeze, he lifted his head to scent the air.

These were the throes of a dying summer. Crisp autumn would be upon them all soon, and taking exercise outdoors would be a different experience altogether. The Prince stretched his lithe neck and limbered his arms, gazing about at the foliage of the trees in the Mirkwood. Not yet tinged with reds and yellows, but soon. Very soon.

After he'd strung his bow and donned his quiver, adjusting the strap so it hung as he liked it, Legolas fired off a few experimental shots, targeting a small protrusion toward the top of the immense practice structure. They struck true, though not quite dead center. The capricious breeze made his attempts list slightly left today.

He changed his mark, and shot arrows two at a time. Then three at a time. He exhaled a breath, slowing. If he weren't more conservative, he'd have to climb up and retrieve them all faster than he would have liked to.

The Prince of the Mirkwood backed up and dropped his broad shoulders, then glanced up at a swinging target about eighty paces from himself—locked its position in his mind. He nocked an arrow, took two slow breaths, and then sprang forward, racing until he'd built up enough momentum to spring into an aerial flip and land lightly on one knee. Without allowing himself to think, he loosed the arrow and watched it fly toward its mark. The satisfying _thunk!_ told him it had hit.

Standing to adjust his gear, he turned back toward the sprawling city of Mirkwood and a flash of movement caught his eye. It was an an elleth—he regarded her—she seemed familiar, but he did not recall her immediately

"My Prince," she called, her reedy voice carrying on the wind.

He watched her approach, standing the butt of his bow upon the ground.

She was beautiful, true—but whom of Elfkind was not? Her long brown locks had been half-coiled on her head in intricate braids; a practical choice. The brilliant green of her eyes struck him as she neared.

When she was close enough to be heard, the elleth knelt graciously before him. "Chalia," she said by way of introduction. "Chalia Ravaxalim, Highness, at your service."

He nodded to her, glancing momentarily back at his waiting targets.

"I do not wish to disturb his Majesty," she continued, noticing. "But there is something troubling me that I would voice. The idea to approach you seized me and I knew you might be able to assist."

Legolas turned his attention back to her. "I would help you lady, of course," he replied in assent. "You have my ear."

The elleth folded her lips in thought and came to her feet.

He noticed the practiced ease with which she moved and wondered what her profession might be if she had one.

"I wish," she said slowly, "to join the King's guard."

He frowned. "The traditional tests and inductions have already been performed for the year," he said, a comment, really—not necessarily an argument. The timing seemed odd to him.

The elleth nodded. "I know, my Prince," she conceded. "And I cannot sleep for the thought that I might have made a grave mistake in failing to enlist. I have strong feelings on the subject, and a desire to serve my kingdom well and be useful."

Legolas considered this very seriously, interested now.

"Truly, Highness," she added. "I would wait until the next matriculation, were it not for the warning in my heart. I felt moved to seek you out, and so here I am."

The turns of phrase were so specific that he felt inclined to hear her out.

"It has not been done in several hundreds of years," he said. "But I believe an exception may be made under the right circumstances. Let us talk further of this."

Chalia's beautiful face lit with relief. There was a comeliness to her appearance that he found very pleasing, and the way she spoke of her own desires and abilities made him wonder at her prowess. She would need to be carefully tested, of course, and if her results were exemplary, he would do his best to speak for her at court.

A little wistfully, he unstrung his bow and moved to take a turn through the compound, inviting her to join him.

* * *

When I awoke, it was to the sound of late summer birdsong and my own still apartments.

The blanket I still clutched to myself was creased with my own weight, and I saw now that I'd barely moved at all during the night. The gown I had foolishly decided to sleep in had pressed itchy imprints into my skin and I rose, disgusted and determined to peel it off of my body.

I shed it quickly, like a snake, and donned a thin robe. I patted uselessly at my face and hair and left at once for the baths.

There was thick steam rising off of the surface of the water today, the temperatures between water and air finally vying for dominance as early autumn had a way of instigating. I walked slowly in until the warm water reached my shoulders and submerged myself, relieved.

At the soft sounds I'd made, I heard a smooth voice call, "Hello?"

It was Chalia, and I turned about, blinking water out of my eyes until I could discern her direction. "Good morning," I said sleepily.

She'd come up behind me and embraced me now, pressing her warm breasts to my upper back in a shower of displaced water. I could feel her center align against my rear and shivered involuntarily at the pleasure this invoked.

"Good morning," she replied silkily against the tipped shell of my ear.

I reminded myself to breathe as she took hold of my shoulders and turned me tenderly to face her. She was such a beautiful elleth, and the unexpected tactile contact had set my heart to racing.

Chalia seemed to know what I was feeling without my divulging it to her, but that wasn't why she'd sought me out this morning. I sensed news, some new information.

"What has happened?" I asked her, stifling a yawn as I played languidly with her floating hands.

She brushed wet hair away from my face, and those stroking fingers strayed dangerously close to my ear. I sighed in frustration and blinked up at her, and she laughed.

"I met with the Prince yesterday," she told me.

My eyes came open a little wider. "Really?" I asked.

"Yes," said Chalia. "I told him that I wanted to enlist, and he's agreed to administer the test!"

I knew she was excited, but I felt only trepidation for my dear friend. The King's guard was dangerous. Accidents happened. Battles—happened. I hugged her close to me, intending to comfort her but setting myself aflame instead.

"I am glad for you, my friend," I told her. My fevered pulse hammered away at her beauty, and I swallowed with effort.

It was common among my kin to indulge physical affinities if social constructs weren't upset by it. Ellith and ellyn alike coupled with their counterparts and with each other, though it was best done class to equivalent class, and when those engaged were in no danger of bonding. Bonding and then separating from a mate could be fatal.

I knew what this was. This was pure lust, and I would not act unless she returned my feelings. The likelihood of us being able to continue as friends once these urges were dealt with was extremely high, and I comforted myself with a silent, _not yet. Think on it first._

She pulled away and moved her hand smoothly through the water, contemplating. "We talked about the forest beasts, and I brought up the recent attack," she continued. "He seemed reluctant to discuss it at first, but I pressed him and he eventually admitted that they could be doing more to ensure our borders are safe."

I nodded in surprise. "He is a very sensible ellon," I remarked. "Willing to listen to reason, and capable of easily admitting a wrong when he is found culpable." _Unlike his father_ , a rebellious part of me echoed silently.

But Chalia shifted her gaze back to mine. "That's right," she remembered. "You must speak with him frequently on all manner of subjects."

"Some," I admitted. The conversation was straying into some unknown territory I wasn't sure I liked, though I could not discern why.

She shrugged. "Well, anyway. I am to be tested, and soon. This horrible feeling that I have failed to obey some cosmic directive is easing a little. It will be so gratifying to know I have done well by our kingdom."

"Good," I replied easily. "I will be eagerly watching your progress. I support you in all things, and wish for your safety and happiness above all."


	13. Chapter 13

In the ensuing week, the weather crisped and the first pops of color began to edge the leaves of Mirkwood's forests. I had always loved this season, and the autumnal changes occuring enchanted me even more now. My current—elevated—status granted me the leisure to enjoy such things.

Gradually, I grew accustomed to not spending my days in study, for as a true royal bard, my life had changed in every possible way. I continued my bardic duties, entertaining the court and intermittently working to clean and organize the music library downstairs.

Interestingly, I happened to uncover there a fair amount of ancient scrolls containing various myths and legends, including some accounts of King Elu Thingol, Beleg Strongbow, and Túrin Turambar. These I quickly shared with my King's councillors, who made all haste to clean and restore them.

One morning as I went to sequester myself in the dusty buried room under the King's chambers, I noticed that a fair amount of cooks, servants, attendants, trade masters and the like were moving quickly about the compound in a feverish frenzy of activity. Everyone seemed singularly focused on their own tasks, but the emotional pitch of it all was mingling somehow, as though each elf's fëa floated skyward to tumble about in a glory of conjoined, harmonic motion.

"What is happening?" I whispered to Ayduin as he led me to the library and carefully unlocked the door. "Why is everyone bustling about so? And has everyone been thus engaged for some time—and I only noticing now?"

The ellon laughed. "The latter, I'm afraid," he said. "A few weeks ago, it was announced that an envoy from Lothlorien would come to our halls. Plans were made to share our harvest and make merry in these last days before Winter is upon us."

I folded my lips together.

"It wasn't a public declaration," he added quickly. "A social interaction of this kind hasn't been planned with our Lorien kin in a while." Then he sighed, and I noticed for the first time how tired he seemed to look. "But even private decrees have a way of… revealing themselves—over time…"

"Do you know who is coming?" I blurted, and Ayduin looked at me strangely. A bit more gently, I added, "Does Lady Galadriel herself come?"

He smiled broadly then. "She does indeed, and several of her close kin. A few courtiers will come to attend them as well," he finished.

"When?" I croaked nervously.

"But two days from now."

I felt my skin chill.

When the older elf had left me to my own devices in the library, I sighed and peered around at my progress. I had been utterly painstaking in my efforts, and though the place looked worlds better, I knew there was still much to do. This was truly an endless task. In that moment, I doubted I would ever finish.

 _An envoy from Lorien_ , the thought echoed in my mind. _A few courtiers will attend them._

I forced myself to face the possibility; did that mean my sister would come? And her husband as well?

I shuddered.

Not for the first time, I wished my mother had survived to help us navigate this strangeness.

I had grown up in the Golden Wood and knew it well; I believe it was originally intended I should stay there. But after losing my mother, all of that changed and my young life was thrown into uncertainty and even peril. It was decided then by my elders that I should be sent to Mirkwood for my formal education.

As it was, I was satisfied with my current situation—perhaps even happy. Did my past now deign to chase me down and fell me like a treed animal?

I had plans that evening to present a few new pieces at court. I had gotten to know the musician Anhely a little better, and we'd prepared a duet as the focal point of the night's entertainment. It was the first time I would sing with another elleth since my training. I hoped it would go over well.

* * *

Thranduil shifted uncomfortably in his throne and attempted to keep his eyes open.

The current meeting had continued far too long for his liking and he was ready to hang the Lake-men one and all rather than endure hearing their proposed changes in tax rates on trade goods.

What cared he as long as the folk of Greenwood the Great had ample food and drink to last the Winter?

He sighed forlornly, and only when a few heads swiveled to regard him in surprise did he notice how demonstrative he'd been.

The emissary kneeling before him trailed off in uncertainty.

"What is it, man?" Thranduil demanded. "Are you well?"

"Are— _you_? Well?" the portly man returned.

The Elvenking glanced sideways at his foreign advisor.

Connak only grinned at him, and Thranduil sat up, affronted. He took a deep breath. _Yes, it's boring_ , he admitted to himself. _It's terribly, terribly boring. And that doesn't bloody matter. Get through it._

"Of course I am well," he scoffed.

The emissary nodded. "Ah, I see, my King. It's just that you…"

And Thranduil leaned forward ever so slightly to regard him, commanding attention by utilizing his own intimidating stature, formidably spiked crown—now decorated with autumn's first blushing leaves and berries—and icy stare.

The man did not finish the thought. "I am mostly through my report," he hedged. "I just needed to announce the changes to the tax on Dorwinion vintages—"

"What is the percentage of increase?" Thranduil asked him tersely. The man had been droning on for the better part of three hours, and he'd had enough.

"Less than .002 percent, Majesty," the man answered.

"Fine," snapped the King. "That is fine; I am fine with that. Connak?"

The foreign affairs advisor was watching him in silent amusement. He inclined his head in mock ceremony toward his King.

"Fine," repeated Thranduil. "I suspect that is enough to consider for one day, and I move we adjourn. My head…"

He had started to complain of his head aching, but the emissary stood and interjected hastily, "That is well, my King—that is very well! Only there is one other matter I would discuss with you. It is of great importance and I promised my board I would mention it today—"

"And what is that?" asked Thranduil tartly. His patience was fraying rapidly.

The man gulped in a breath. "Your Majesty, two shipments have been lost en route to your halls. I confirmed with your own merchants this morning that there are no records of them ever having arrived."

Thranduil frowned. _What's this?_

"Majesty," the man continued. "Our scouts and pack merchants have complained before of attacks in your forests. Reports tell of great spiders with a poisonous bite—and of other mysterious creatures as well. Some of our envoys have returned with wounds sustained and frightening tales to tell. Incidents of this nature appear—unfortunately," and here the man squinted as if it pained him to relay this, "to be increasing. And when two of our latest shipments went missing, well…"

Suddenly, Thranduil was wide awake.

Had it really grown that dangerous?

He gave a toss of his kingly head and his silken hair splayed prettily over one shoulder. "I thank you for bringing it to my attention," he said, refusing to be upset by the news. "We will speak of this further."

When the man had finally left the audience chamber, he caught Reyren looking fixedly at him.

Because the trade delegation of Northmen was visiting, that evening the king and his attendants supped in the Great Hall. Pains were taken to demonstrate the beauty, wealth, and excellence of Mirkwood, and even the bard had worked up a few new pieces.

 _Filauria,_ the Elvenking thought, tasting her name in his mind.

They'd quarreled not long ago, and she'd surprised him—as he was becoming accustomed to her doing. Really, there was so much in the elleth that needed still to be trained, shaped, and smoothed. Her education had been unparalleled, true, and she was bright and pretty. But there was a… a coarseness to her that struck him as odd at times.

He would take her in hand.

No elf had ever presumed to chase down the King in his own halls and demand he answer for his conduct. And certainly no elf had dared to offer a defense of behavior when accused.

But alongside the uncanny in her, there were characteristics he found refreshing and even appealing. She observed his wishes where her own garb was concerned, appearing always in gowns cut to his preference, but then she eschewed any extravagant ornamentation in her accessories and hair. The coppery-chestnut tresses often fell loose and silky, or with a few simple braids only. He found himself longing to touch them.

This evening a bemused expression crossed his face when she and another court entertainer moved to take their places on the south dais.

The meal had been excellent and now the court was drinking and conversing quietly over subdued music.

When the two ellith appeared together and began preparing to perform, he knew it would not be an ordinary piece. Slowly, the black-haired elleth began a soft chant, and Filauria eventually joined her. The two delicate melodies met, twining lazily about each other.

Thranduil listened, fascinated by the courtly Sindarin lyrics.

The song was about the interdependence of the elus tree and thew vines; two forest plants that grew plentifully in the Mirkwood and needed each other to survive. The musician's alto part represented the slender elus and its endeavor to reach ever skyward, while Filauria's part was as complex and winding as a young vine spreading itself gently over trunk and branches.

Commingled, the voices were pleasant, even suggestive, and it seemed that Filauria chose to further this impression by taking her partner's hand and interlacing their long, perfect fingers. The sight stirred his blood.

Notably, the overtones produced by the two excellent singers combined to form a third, shadowy harmony that was extremely impressive—and most likely difficult to achieve.

When the beautiful offering was over, Thranduil noticed his eyes were wet.

What he didn't notice was that his son—seated at the very same table—was staring at the young elleth in warm, open admiration.


	14. Chapter 14

When the evening had drawn to a close and most of the dinner dishes had been cleared away, I stooped to pick up a few slender collections of music and sighed, moving my neck from side to side on my sore shoulders to stretch them.

Everything had gone well, I thought. The delegation of Northmen had indulged heavily in food and drink, unable to match the stamina my kin so thoughtlessly displayed. The music, which I'd carefully planned and practiced, had been received appreciatively.

I was making my way through the mostly empty Great Hall to the carved double doors on the other side when I heard a gentle call.

I turned, surprised. My floor-skimming gown moved with me, and I felt the tightness through my stomach and hips strain just a little. Wearily, I thought how nice it would be to shed it.

It was the King who'd summoned me.

He stood casually on the north dais, looking as tired as I felt. There were some mortal men who'd supped with him—departing now, and a smattering of councillors who meant to stay behind.

"Bard," he called again, rather impersonally for my taste.

I curtsied, keeping my eyes on him. "Highness?"

The points of his savage crown housed bits of leaves and fall flowers, artfully arranged. "We are going to take tea with some of the ambassadors," he said. "Won't you join us?"

I paused. I didn't want to, not especially. What a strange request from Thranduil Elvenking! I considered. Tea with the human ambassadors? After midnight? I wished Legolas had remained behind to put us all at ease, but he'd retired with the rest of the guests.

Deciding that I didn't want to find out what would happen if I declined, I gave my King a nod and said, "I thank you for the kind invitation. That would be lovely."

He stretched his lips into what might have been a smile as I moved toward the dais to join the small contingent of elves and the ambassadors from Lake-town. When I reached them, Thranduil offered me his hand and helped me up onto the platform.

I thought to myself as I stood that I'd always wanted to see the Great Hall from this vantage point, but had long given it up as an impossibility. Yet here I was, on the north dais—with the King.

And I discovered then that the hall didn't appear quite as different as I'd expected it might.

The table for the dignitaries had been cleared and cleaned, and now servants moved to lay new settings down; delicate little sauces, tiny silver spoons, and napkins of the finest linen.

Connak, the foreign affairs advisor, took his place to the left of the King, resting his hands gently on the chair back, and waited for the rest of us to choose our places.

When Reyren moved to take the position on his right, Thranduil flicked a long-fingered hand lazily at them both and said, "No, no. I want the bard to sit there. She is still undergoing her education, and this will be good for her to observe, I think."

I looked nervously at the others, but no one objected to the request. They simply made room for me.

The King fixed his gaze on the chair to his right as if waiting for it to come to life and walk away. I decided he was waiting for me to sit in it, and so I did. He seemed satisfied.

Across from us were three dignitaries from Lake-town. One portly little man seemed very impressed with the pomp and elegance of it all.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asked breathlessly of no one in particular. "The autumnal tea ceremony of the Mirkwood elves?"

Thranduil stared at him, rather rudely, I thought, and replied, "It is autumn, man. And we are in Mirkwood. What else did you suppose it might be?"

The man coloured and stammered, "Apologies, Highness. I don't mean to be obtuse. Only my kin and I have heard stories of this ceremony, and hardly any of the Northmen have seen it. I thank you," and here glanced up at Ayduin, who was busy preparing the table, "for your hospitality."

Thranduil nodded absently.

Secretly, I echoed the man's sentiments; I wanted dearly to see what happened next. While I'd taken tea, it had never been in the audience chamber, never with the royal glassware, and certainly never in the company of the King himself. I smiled as though I were comfortable and held my hands tightly in my lap so no one could see them shaking.

As the small group of four elves and three men chatted quietly, Ayduin moved silently about the table, preparing the tea.

It was then that I realized we were all paired off. There were eight of us all told, and four carafes for the tea to steep in, one for each couple. That was new and different to me. A tea… partner? I thought. That must be what distinguishes courtier service from the more elevated, royal iteration.

The carafes were tall and crafted of translucent glass, fitted to the blower's hands when made. Each had been etched with tiny vines and leaves around the lips of the vessels. The cups matched; short, delicate things with no handles. Each place setting had two elegant stone jars, ostensibly to hold the tea leaves, a mithril strainer, an empty stone bowl, and a carved stirring stick.

I jumped—Ayduin was beside me. "Green or white, my dear?" he asked me softly.

Tea, he means, I thought. Calming myself, I answered him. "White, please."

And he opened one of the stoneware jars, placing the lid down on the table beside us.

The company had grown quiet and was watching him as he worked.

A small silver spoon was housed within the stone jar. Ayduin's graceful fingers pulled it out and then used it to collect a generous scoop of white tea leaves. The sweet, floral fragrance of them bloomed around us, and I inhaled deeply, savoring it.

Ayduin shook the spoon gently, leveling off the dried leaves. Then he deposited the delicate stuff in the glass carafe closest to me, allowing it to trail down the glass surface so as not to bruise it.

He did this again, collecting another scoop. The silver spoon clinked softly on the stone, and again on the glass. I watched him, entranced, and an unconscious shiver ran up my spine.

The movement must have caught the King's eye, for I saw him turn slightly to glance at me. I pretended nothing had happened.

The ellon moved on, doing the same for each couple at the table—two scoops of tea, delicately placed. The air became sweet with the heady scent of it. Ayduin quietly asked the guest on the right in each pair whether they preferred to drink white or green tea.

I understood then. By placing me beside him and on his right, my King had generously granted me the honor of choosing what we would drink for the evening. I coloured, hoping he didn't have an aversion to white tea.

I stole a glance at Thranduil King. He looked tired and bored. The fearsome crown upon his head insisted sharply in the soft glow of the evening candlelight. The sleeves of his crushed velvet robe pooled about the armrests on his carved chair. His silken hair hung smoothly down his back, and some unseen breeze stirred the strands of it slightly. He must have known I was staring, for he turned his gaze on me and I looked quickly away.

Stop it, I admonished myself. Decorum. Don't disappoint Hamalitia. She taught you how to take tea. Shown them!

But I was so tired. I'd exhausted myself performing, and it was late. I hoped no one was expecting sparkling conversation from me. They'd be sorely disappointed.

Ayduin had finished with the tea leaves and would now begin dispensing the hot water. He disappeared briefly into one of the side rooms off of the audience chamber and then returned with a slender iron kettle, which he held gingerly by the handle with assistance from a cloth napkin.

He began at our place setting, pouring a bit of steaming water into the King's glass cup. Not a single drop splashed on either one of us. He filled mine next, then moved on.

Soft tendrils of warmth curled lazily up from each of our glasses. I felt the heat on my face and leaned forward gratefully.

In a moment, all eight of us had sufficiently warmed cups.

Thranduil nodded to Ayduin, and then the ellon began moving around the table again, this time filling the large carafes about halfway with the steaming water. Again, he began with us. The tea colored the water a faint yellow, and some of the blossoms unfurled prettily within the translucent glass. Those who had chosen green tea exclaimed over the vibrant color.

When everyone had been served, there was a slight shift in attention, and after a moment I understood we were all waiting for something. I darted a glance at the King, who gave me an almost imperceptible nod, then looked back and forth from me to his own cup.

Ah. That's why he wanted me to sit here, I thought bitterly. The bastard.

I was on his right. Which meant that I would begin the next part of the ceremony. While everyone else watched me.


	15. Chapter 15

Thranduil watched the bard struggle to stand up. She was so damned expressive—he saw her decide she wouldn't be able to reach all of the necessary accoutrements if seated, give a little sigh of resignation, and then get on with it.

Valar, but she was entertaining. It made the evening more bearable.

Filauria took a deep, quiet breath and squared her shoulders.

Then it was as if she transformed into an entirely different being. The tired elleth he'd been watching for the last quarter of an hour disappeared.

This she-elf slowly and confidently picked up her own glass cup and brought it to her chest, where the steam rose from it to frame her petite face. Very carefully, she rolled the glass in her fingers so that the hot water touched every part of its inner surface, warming it thoroughly. This went on for a few seconds. Her movements were practiced, graceful, and almost mechanical. He reasoned with himself that she'd probably done this for her tutors countless times—until the execution was perfect. The elleth then slowly emptied the water from her cup into the empty stoneware bowl.

Slowly, gently, she set her cup down, then did the same with his.

Thranduil took tea all the time, but generally, Ayduin served it. Or someone else. It was never anyone particularly engaging to watch. He thought back to the beautiful times when his late wife had served him. Now, _that_ had been fascinating. Especially when she'd done it naked and they'd gone to bed afterward.

Filauria emptied his cup into the stone bowl and then set it carefully down before him. She refused to make eye contact with anyone but didn't seem to mind being watched. Which was a good thing, as she would set the tone for the next stage of the ceremony. So far, she was handling it well.

Now, she reached for the long, slender stirring stick. As she did this, a corner of her sleeve brushed the back of his hand, which rested on the table. It sent a pleasant chill through him.

Slowly, she used the stick to stir the tea in the clear carafe. The end nearly reached the base, but not quite. When it was incorporated and most of the leaves had floated gently to the bottom, the elleth withdrew the carved stick and tapped it a few times on the lip of the glass. Then she set it down.

Now, for the strainer. She picked up the delicate mithril netting and placed it over the King's empty cup. Then she picked up the heavy carafe and poured. She had to lean close to do it, and he could smell her—a lingering floral scent with spicy undertones, sweat, cosmetics, and the remains of the dinner they'd finished. She smelled good. He sat up straighter, reminding himself to pay attention to the proceedings.

Filauria removed the strainer from his cup and set it over hers. Once they each had some of the faint yellow liquid steaming languidly in their glasses, she replaced the carafe and lowered her hands to her sides, turning to him.

Thranduil granted her a small smile of approval. The table had been completely silent through her ministrations, and watched him now for the signal to begin. The King raised his warm cup to his lips and tasted—just a small sip. It was hot, but very good.

At his tiny nod of assent, soft conversation broke again and everyone else began serving their partner at once.

The bard seemed relieved as she took her seat next to him once more.

She'd done them all credit, but he was going to make a joke about how sloppy her performance had been anyway when he noticed the slight sag in her shoulders and the dark circles under her eyes. Perhaps he'd leave her alone tonight. It wouldn't do to have the royal bard weeping in front of the Lake-town ambassadors.

* * *

The next day, I met Chalia Ravaxalim in one of the large libraries. While I waited for her, I stood holding a steaming mug of chocolate and peering out at the autumn day through the large, gracious windows. The weather in the Mirkwood was generally temperate for most of the year, though we did experience freezes and snowfall. In the colder months, the atriums and vestibules that lay open to the elements in summer were vacated, and my kin and I chose to frequent more enclosed spaces like this one.

The leaves on the trees outside were a riot of crimson, peach, pink and gold, beautiful to see.

I was still stiff and sore from being up late the night before, but the thick, dark, drinking chocolate was fortifying, and I allowed my tired eyes to close, basking in the small relief that brought.

It had been a strange evening. The ambassadors from Lake-town were impressed with the service and hospitality of the elves. I had expected more political discussion and negotiation to take place as we supped, and when it didn't, I assumed everything had been settled at the trading audience earlier that day. Certainly, I was relieved. The King had seemed as spent as I was.

The King. Why on Middle-earth had he chosen to invite me to sit with them all?

Chalia was just descending the stairs and smiled when she noticed me.

"Good morning," I called to her, and she replied in kind.

We embraced briefly and she gently kissed the side of my face. "Chocolate?" she breathed, and I nodded. Immediately, she held her hands out expectantly and I proffered my cup to her.

While she took a slow, careful sip, I sighed contentedly. "How are you, my friend?" I asked. "What news?"

Chalia's brow furrowed and she swallowed quickly, then gasped a little. "It's hot," she exclaimed, and passed the stoneware mug back to me.

I laughed silently.

"I will take my proficiency test this week," she told me with a proud grin after she'd recovered.

I wasn't sure whether to be excited or frightened for her. "I'm so glad this is happening the way you wish it to," I said carefully, and it was her turn to laugh at me.

"I know you love me, Fil," she said. "But you mustn't worry on my behalf. It will be months before I am called to active patrol. For now, this means a lot of training and physical labor. It's perfect."

At her insistence, I relaxed a little. "Good," I said.

"Oh, but there is something I would tell you," she added. "Let's sit down."

We sought a bench in a cozy corner of the library that still gave a fine view of the breezy, motlied forest outside.

Chalia's hip pressed in closely to mine, and I was grateful for the warmth. "Now," she said. "Don't be alarmed, but I have news of the fell beasts that have been roaming our forests."

"Don't be alarmed!" I cried. "Easy words. What now? More attacks on our kin?"

But she placed a comforting hand on my arm and answered, "No, no—nothing like that. I've just heard something from… Oh, from Tanulia. You came out with her, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course," I said impatiently.

"She is employed by one of the scribes in history and documentation now," Chalia informed me. "And settled in very nicely. She has occasion to encounter all sorts of interesting information, some of it ancient and arcane."

I listened, feeling a coldness begin to creep around my heart but not understanding why.

Chalia continued. "Tanulia found a scroll a few days ago containing information about the forest spiders. It is myth or legend, she believes, but we all know that myth and legend often spring from some truth. According to this scroll, the spider bite contains a poison—"

"I know that!" I snapped at her, but she rapped me slightly on the upper thigh in rebuke.

"Listen!" she insisted. "It is a spiritual poison. The bite does not only damage the victim's hröa—physically. It is harmful to the elves' fëar."

"The bite can damage fëa?" I asked worriedly.

She nodded. "This explains what happened to the little elfkin earlier this year."

There was a brief, horrified silence while I considered this. After a moment, I asked, "And does the scroll entail how to stop the poison, or at least to slow it?"

Chalia shook her pretty head, and for a moment the pointed tips of her ears showing through the thick strands of her hair. "There must be a way, but it is not spoken of in that particular piece of writing. Tanulia told me she means to keep looking."

"Manwë," I breathed. "She should not be searching alone. Others must be informed of this!"

And the elleth nodded. "Yes. She has brought it to the attention of her superior. This forest is very old, and though the infestation was once worse than this, that was thousands of years ago. It isn't anything our kind has had to worry about in a long time. There is clearly much we need to re-learn."

"We have been foolish," I corrected her, "Not to retain the wisdom our forebears won for us."

"Perhaps," she replied. "Fil, we are handling this. The information has made it to the war council."

I nodded, a little mollified.

"They will make the announcement today," Chalia added. "No one is to venture out into the Mirkwood unaccompanied. It is more dangerous than any of us thought."

"Thank you for telling me," I said quietly.

"Thank you for listening," she replied.


	16. Chapter 16

The Prince stormed in through the rear gates, not bothering to answer the guards' calls of greeting as he sought a shadowy corner and carelessly dropped his hunting gear to the ground. He turned, irritated to see that his escort had followed him, even to the base of the retaining wall.

"What?" he asked them snappishly.

The elleth and ellon accompanying him drew back.

"No, by all means," he continued, gesticulating toward the ground. "Protect me. I might lose my balance and trip, falling to my death before your eyes. This wall," he added, with faux surprise, "It could collapse on me at any moment."

"My Prince," the ellon began.

"Nay," cried Legolas. "Don't speak! You put me at peril by doing so. I might go deaf."

The elleth rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "Come," she said to her partner. "We are inside the gates now. The Prince clearly tires of our company."

"But… our orders…" insisted the he-elf.

She was already striding away.

Legolas had dropped to one knee and was unlacing one of his leather greaves, further frustrated by the way his blond locks kept falling forward over his fingers and tangling in the thin strips.

"Forgive me, Prince Legolas," the ellon tried. His dark auburn braids gleamed in the afternoon sun. "I know it is tiresome…"

"It is maddening," the Prince interjected, standing sharply to regard the elf.

"I know," his companion conceded.

"I'm a social creature, it is true. But I value my solitude. One of my favourite things is to be active, running, using the bow or the sword. And the best place for me to practice is there—" and here the Prince gestured to the palace wall, "—In the Greenwood."

His guard listened patiently.

Legolas sighed. "It is not your fault," he added defeatedly. "I just hate it. I hate the new directive. I've never met a fell spider who has managed to survive me. I don't understand the obsessive caution now. I am a practiced warrior—surely this is unnecessary."

When the ellon said nothing, the Prince sighed again and moved to enter the compound.

Over his shoulder though, he heard guards, footsoldiers, and courtiers exchanging reports.

"Where is his Majesty Prince Legolas?" someone cried in alarm. "Has he returned?"

"Yes, you half-wit," someone else answered. "Just there, big as life. Didn't you see him? Seems in a temper."

A third voice chimed in. "Did someone mark him as returned safely? It's a requirement now that we mark any and all elfkind as returned safely when trips outside the border are concluded…"

And, blood beginning to boil again, Legolas quickened his pace, longing to get away from it all. It really was ridiculous. All of a sudden, the whole kingdom was on high alert—all because of some dusty old scroll explaining that now the spiders could damage the souls of their victims.

Ha! He believed inane rules could be just as soul-damaging as mindless insects. Perhaps more.

He believed—

A door on his right opened suddenly and another elf hurried out, not looking—

He didn't have enough time to redirect. His body collided with hers—hard. There was a frantic tangle of scrabbling legs as the two of them attempted to stay upright and then gave up. Filauria emitted a frightened little shriek as she toppled over, her heavy skirts tripping her hopelessly. He felt a _whooshhh_ of air issue from her at the impact of chest on chest, and he reached out quickly to grip her by the waist. Perhaps he could break her fall so it wasn't as painful.

A moment later, the little she elf was splayed out on the floor beneath him, and the Prince looked down into her wide eyes, his hand still holding tightly to her waist. His knees had gone to either side of her slender hips. That was… he tried not to grin… That was not how he'd expected to encounter her today.

He was considering making a joke about the "fall" season when he noticed she was struggling to breathe. Instantly, he pulled himself off of her and gave her space.

Filauria rolled to her side and curled up into a little ball, then managed to draw in a little air and emit a strange, barking sound.

Legolas was horrified then. He'd forgotten how much smaller than him she was.

"My lady," he began apologetically.

But she put up one hand, shaking her head at him. It wasn't necessary, she seemed to imply.

"But I..." he continued.

She closed her eyes and shook her head again, holding up a finger to silence him.

"Water?" he asked then, and she took a moment before finally nodding.

When he returned from his office with a mug of cool water for her, Filauria had finally climbed to her feet and was standing with one hand braced against the wall. She saw him coming and gave him a shaky smile, then managed a laugh.

Legolas was relieved.

"My lady," he said again. "Forgive me. I was in a temper and moving too quickly through the halls. It was careless."

"I was just as careless," she replied faintly. "You have nothing to reproach yourself for, believe me. Though," she added, "I'd very much like to know where you were going in such a hurry!"

His shoulders sagged a little. "To my apartments. I was angry. The royal guard followed me out into the forest today and wouldn't leave me to my peace no matter what I told them."

She shrugged. "At least you're safe. I'd hate it if anything ever happened to you."

And just like that, much of the angst he'd been feeling began to melt away. _She'd hate it if anything ever happened to me,_ he told himself.

It didn't fix everything, but it certainly cheered him.

Filauria had begun to move down the corridor once more, and he followed her, asking, "Where are you going?"

"Lunch," she replied. "A dignitary from Rivendell is joining us today."

"Are you singing?"

"Of course."

He opened a door for her as they reached it. The gown she wore today bared the back of her neck and the slender column of her spine, and he had a wild urge to touch the creamy skin there for a moment before mastering himself and pulling back.

"May I come and hear you?"

The she-elf turned and gave him a strange look. "My Prince," she said. "You may be wherever you wish to be, doing whatever you wish to be doing. You are the Crown Prince of Mirkwood. Do you imagine Ayduin will see you at luncheon and ask you to leave?"

"Well, no, I—"

She gave him a pitying smile as though worried for his sanity.

"I just didn't want to invite myself, if…"

Filauria laughed and shook her head at him. "Excuse me," she said, moving past him to open another inner door. He caught it by the edge and held it steady for her as she went through, then followed after.

The audience chamber was quite full, but any social activity was understated.

The dignitary in question was seated near the King, deep in conversation. She was a tall elleth with nearly white-blonde hair, almost the same colour as the king's. Her fingers and wrists were encrusted with glinting pieces of jewels and silver.

 _Almost too much_ , Legolas found himself thinking. He'd never cared for such ornamentation, nor in such profusion.

For such a loudly arrayed elleth, her visage was dull and expressionless. She seemed to be speaking very slowly. As he listened to her, Thranduil looked solemn and, as always—a bit unhappy.

Legolas watched Filauria enter the room ahead of him, saw her greet a few key players, a few courtiers, the correct servants, and one or two guests. The room seemed to stir and awaken with her addition to the party. Others noticed her gleaming coppery hair and the way she stood up straight with her shoulders pulled back.

She was doing well here, he realized, remembering how frightened she had been to begin work at court. It seemed she was respected for her talent now, and had gained a measure of confidence because of it. She'd even been more comfortable with him in the corridor, and moved about the palace with ease and permission. He was glad.

Instead of checking with Ayduin, Filauria went straight to the King. She stopped before the dais and gave Thranduil and his guest a deep curtsey.

Thanduil King seemed to come alive at her approach and listened placidly while she spoke.

The dour elleth next to his seemed miffed by the King's divided attention, and Legolas pitied his father for a moment. This guest might be exceedingly difficult to please no matter what one did.

Filauria was looking back and forth between the two of them and nodding. Then she curtsied again and left them to go and collect some equipment from a corner in the quiet chamber.

In only a few moments, the bard approached them again and struck a stirring cord on her lute. It was noisy, and several courtiers jumped, and then laughed nervously. A new, fresh undercurrent of emotion began to flow through the room, and Legolas relished it. Filauria smiled at them all and began to play and sing.

 _Cherry red,_

 _Berry ripe,_

 _Bold as a bouquet—O!_

 _Lean and light,_

 _Small and tight,_

 _Brighter than the day—O!_

 _Say you'll stay,_

 _Never stray,_

 _In my arms I pray—O!_

 _Cherry red,_

 _Berry ripe,_

 _Jubilant and gay—O!_

And she broke off into a series of lightning-quick arpeggios, handling them nimbly.

It was impressive. The company assembled was surprised and delighted by her choice and execution. The emissary from Rivendell was interested in spite of herself, and even Legolas' father had cracked a small smile.

The bard continued.

 _Cherry red,_

 _Berry ripe,_

 _Begging me to try—O!_

 _Full of grace,_

 _Fair of face,_

 _Eyes as blue as sky—O!_

 _Were I free,_

 _Happy me,_

 _To thee I would fly—O!_

 _Cherry red,_

 _Berry ripe,_

 _After thee I sigh—O!_

Filauria's fingers flew. She bent her head forward to give herself a better view of the strings, effectively shutting everyone else out.

The song was quaint and a bit archaic, obviously a creation of man or halfling—anything that obvious could never be attributed to the elves. But the countermelodies and polyrhythms the elleth wrought on the lute were undeniably engaging, and everyone present listened happily, tapping a foot or bobbing a head to the music.

When at last the piece ended in a frenetic but triumphant flourish, the audience chamber instantly erupted in appreciative applause.

The emissary from Rivendell threw up her hands to join in emphatically, losing one of her pretty bracelets as she did so.

Filauria laughed and looked up at everyone, feigning surprise that they were all still there—as if the music had been so absorbing that she'd forgotten where she was.

Smiling, Legolas shook his head in admiration.

The entire atmosphere of the court had changed from bland to beatific. The air was—charged, somehow. Alive with possibilities. With the song over, the courtiers turned to their neighbors in animated conversation, and the Prince moved toward the throne where his father sat.

Then he saw Filauria place her lute down carefully and walk right up to Thranduil Elvenking—so close!

Why was she so close to him?

Legolas peered at them, frowning in consternation until he understood.

Their guest's bracelet, when it had flown from her wrist, had gotten caught in the King's crown.

With everyone around them chatting gaily, no one noticed the bard reach out to disentangle the offending piece of jewelry. Filauria was laughing merrily at first, but then quieted in order to concentrate. She bit her lower lip while she worked, gently smoothing the hair back from the King's forehead with her hands.

Legolas raised his eyebrows at that.

For a moment, it looked as though Thranduil would reach up to steady her by placing his hands on her tiny waist—but he caught himself quickly and kept them firmly in his lap.

It was a micro-movement, but it was there.

Still, it was forgivable. It could all be dismissed as a strange aberration…

The bracelet was almost free.

Filauria leaned in even closer, and Legolas watched them both darkly.

Her eyes darted down to fix on the King's—just for an instant—surely, that was near enough to feel another's breath on one's lips, and then Thranduil Elvenking swallowed—convulsively, as though suffocating. It was only a small movement, a bobbing of the perfect, white flesh at his throat, but it spoke loudly.

Then the bard stepped back and gave the bracelet to the emissary.

The sounds of lively conversation came back, or perhaps it was only that the Prince began to notice them again.

After curtseying low to the couple near the throne, Filauria picked up her lute and entertained the court with gentle, instrumental tunes for the rest of the afternoon.


	17. Chapter 17

The waning light had gone to seed and evening was coming quickly on.

Legolas spent the rest of his afternoon at the practice range. There was one target in particular that was giving him trouble—one of the painted wooden panels high up in the air and dangling from a tree limb.

It seemed that just as he'd aimed well with his strongbow and let the arrow fly, a capricious wind would materialize and push the shot just off center. Once, he entirely missed the target—a thing rare and unusual for the warrior.

He kept thinking of the audience chamber earlier that day, and of Filauria standing so close to his father.

It had made him feel… strange. Unsettled. He hadn't understood it at all.

Had he imagined it, or was there really attraction there? _Could_ there be? Thranduil had not professed interest in another elf, elleth or ellon, since his wife had died.

Legolas shrugged to himself. The King was cold and rather stoic, never fully engaged with others, never impressed with what anyone else had to say. If it were true—if Filauria had captured his attention, would he even do anything about it? Act on his feelings in any way?

It was entirely inappropriate, of course. He was the King, and she only a courtier. She was in his employ.

And yet… She wasn't ineligible. It was her position that made things tricky. Her status as a Sindarin made her acceptable as a potential mate. And Legolas, the crown Prince, harbored feelings for her himself. Was that any different?

He harbored feelings for her.

In the wake of the realization, Legolas slowly lowered his bow and the arrow he had nocked to it. Could he name them, these—feelings?

It was casual interest, he told himself. True, he'd been struck by her beauty the moment he'd seen her at the Summer Solstice celebration, but attraction between elfkin was laughably common and even expected. Since then, he'd come to know her a little better, and this seemed to beget a need to continue the trend. He wanted to know absolutely everything about her. _She is well-born, attractive, intelligent, talented, and personable,_ he thought. _Who wouldn't like her?_ He certainly hadn't given his heart to her yet. If she were to mate and bond with another, he would recover, and probably easier than the last time. Yes—this was definitely casual interest.

But then, if it was so casual, why did his heart skip a beat when he'd seen Filauria and Thranduil regarding each other so—well, so intimately?

Out of nowhere, the anger descended on him. He had no idea how long this had lain dormant within his breast, but the idea that he'd been denied comfort and companionship over hundreds of empty years suddenly disgusted him. He'd been so alone, and Thranduil had all but chased his beloved Tauriel away. The Prince's evenings had been quiet, his bed cold. He had no children. If And now that an eligible elleth had presented herself at court, the King appeared to be lusting after her like… like a hart in heat. Unless Legolas was greatly mistaken, his father harbored some feelings for the bard.

What was he to do?

He had no idea of Filauria's actually returning these affections—if that was indeed the reality of the situation. That was a comfort, at least. She wasn't spoken for that Legolas could tell. And really—the King falling for his own bard? It was ridiculous. Unseemly. Thranduil would never act on it, certainly.

Legolas loosed another arrow. If he was careful and very attentive, he might still have the chance to win her. As the crown Prince and an uncoupled ellon as yet, Mirkwood society would not look unkindly on the match were he to claim her. He would certainly try.

And he would say nothing to his father until the King's feelings on the subject became impossible to ignore.

Legolas used his frustration to give power to his practice attacks. Before the session was over, he'd drilled that elusive target high in the air absolutely full of arrows.

* * *

It was a chilly November morning, and I opened my eyes to a grey dawn.

My room seemed cozier now that I'd had the chance to fill it with some of my things. The longer I'd been employed at court, the more chances I'd had to amass, well—possessions.

My collection of gowns had grown exponentially. Several large chests had been brought to my apartments to house extra garments, cosmetics and jewelry. I'd been gifted several volumes of books by new friends I'd met, and the odd instrument, music stand, or scroll punctuated any open spaces in my quarters. I almost couldn't believe my elevated status as a true courtier, nor the advantages that were now accessible to me because of it. After what I'd come from, this was an utter dream.

The crisp, clean bedclothes felt wonderful next to my skin, and for a moment I lingered in bed, satisfied to peer out at the frigid day.

Several pairs of elven feet hastened past my door; I heard someone gently calling for hot water—and my heart sank when I realized what day it was.

Today was the day the envoy from Lothlorien was slated to arrive.

 _Oh, Valar,_ I thought. I wished in my heart that the Lady Galadriel might be our only visitor, but suspected it was too much to hope for.

My sister and brother-in-law would most certainly travel with her.

Yrathea was part of the inner consort and had become indispensable as one of Lady Galadriel's companions. Her husband—even now, the thought nettled me—waited on Galadriel and Celeborn as well.

And suddenly, my room felt cold and dull, and I wished only to go back to sleep.

Could I? For a moment, I considered simply keeping to my rooms and telling everyone that I was ill. Of course, knowing the royal family as I did, they would most certainly send healers to attend me.

 _No,_ I thought. _Better to get cleaned up and see. They might not have come. Then you'd be worrying for nothing._

Groggily, I roused myself from bed and gathered my things before padding down the hall to the baths.

The enclave that housed the dining area was uncharacteristically busy that morning. Several Mirkwood courtiers that I seldom saw in public were in attendance, and I noticed a smattering of Lorien elves as well. None of the sovereigns had joined the throng yet—too early, I suspected. I sat down and helped myself to a fortifying meal of sprouted grains, herbed mushrooms, and a carrot soup. As I ate, that unpleasant fluttering in my stomach began to calm. _They might not even be here. Silly elleth, to worry over nothing!_

I had just taken a large sip of tea when the door at the far end of the chamber opened and my hopes for the day were shattered. There they were, arm in arm; Yrathea and Dalyor, looking just as happy and contented as they had made me wretched and miserable.

My heart pounded so hard, I was sure anyone who cared to look could see my throat pulsing with it.

Despite my best efforts to remain unfazed, my breath came quick and short—and my breakfast threatened a hasty reprisal.

 _Must… escape,_ I thought to myself. _Danger. Pain._

I kept my head down as the two of them meandered in and began to chat with other elfkin. When I judged they were well-occupied and wouldn't notice, I surreptitiously slipped out through a side door and hurried back to my room.

With my door safely closed, I leaned against it to catch my breath—and burst into helpless tears instead.

If I was at all coherent, I would have been surprised. The deluge was instant and immediate, and the force of my implosion bent me at the waist.

I covered my face with my hands and sobbed.

I could not be about today, could not entertain the King—I could not. I could not see the two of them, see how they smiled at one other. Slowly, I moved myself to my bed, still unmade, and lay down. I think I must have cried for about an hour.

After, I peered at my pitiful reflection in the looking glass and shook my head, resolved.

Absolutely not. I would not appear in court today.

* * *

"What do you mean, she's indisposed?" Thranduil asked incredulously. "That's ridiculous. I saw her last evening—she was fine."

Ayduin shrugged helplessly. "I do apologize, my King. A servant has returned from the bard's apartments bearing the news. She says she's unwell."

The King frowned. _This, I do not like_ , he thought. _No, not at all._

Being surprised in any way, pleasant or no, was not a thing Thranduil ascribed to. He preferred to know in advance what was coming so he might prepare himself for it in the most effective way possible.

The crown felt heavy on his head today, and his velvet wrap—usually so effective at staving off the chill—was doing nothing in the way of comfort. His long, pale green robes fell languidly to the floor, and his crystalline eyes regarded his councillor sharply. "This is unacceptable," he announced. "Send a healer to her rooms at once. We have guests, and they will expect to be entertained. Have someone hold her up if she cannot stand on her own."

The ellon's eyebrows lifted at the directive, but he bowed to his sovereign and left with a murmured, "Yes, my King."

"Filauria? Ill?" asked Legolas, approaching the throne as suddenly as Ayduin had left it.

"I know as much as you, my son," Thranduil replied. "I am surprised the bard did not send word herself. It is most unlike her to simply miss an engagement without any communication as to why."

The Prince nodded. "It is indeed." There was a short pause, and then he added, "It is concerning. I will go and see for myself, I think."

Thranduil felt a sudden panic then that he could not name. He had the impulse to forbid such behavior but did not know why.

"My son," called the King after him, and Legolas stopped to regard his father.

But there were no words.

 _Say something, fool_ , Thranduil told himself, but the feelings would not translate. "Never mind," he finished lamely. "Please let me know what you find out."

And the Prince nodded curtly and was gone.


	18. Chapter 18

Note: Hello, friends! Thank you so much for reading and following. Peerless is a little project I began over a year ago when I was feeling blue, and I've picked it back up this season. You'll see lots of chapters dropping this month because I am using NaNoWriMo to add to my word count.

This is an AU that blends some of the film culture with the history from the books. I wanted to work primarily with a fictional lead, and I knew I wanted a Thranduil/Legolas face off. The POVs I'm using are really pretty unusual, nothing I would attempt to pitch to an agent unless the circumstances were exactly right, but it seemed like a fun thing to try—so I tried it!

Keep in mind as you're reading that what I'm essentially doing is spilling out a first draft here. This hasn't been cleaned or anything, so I'm going to need to go back and do some pretty heavy edits later. I know we all love the fandom though, and that those who are following the story will forgive me those oversights. The good news is that I have the whole thing plotted and I can't wait to share it with all of you! As always, don't be shy. If you have comments or ideas, feel free to share. They keep me inspired and I write faster if I know readers are jazzed about the content.

Happy November, and be well!

* * *

When Legolas reached the door to the bard's room, he leaned in closer to the panel and knocked gently with the back of one hand.

There was no answer.

He knocked again, more loudly, and waited. Again, nothing.

Truly worried now, he tried the lock and found the door open. "My lady!" he called softly, letting himself in.

All of the drapes were drawn, lending the room a chill and gloomy feel. He frowned. This was not right at all. He glanced over at the bed, expecting to find her curled up and sleeping—he hoped she had not taken a fever.

But it was empty.

"Filauria!" he called again, and heard a soft noise by way of a reply.

The sound came from the elleth's sitting room, which housed a few instruments and a dining table in case she needed to take meals in her apartments or entertain others. When he caught sight of her—up and dressed, at least—he was relieved. Then he saw her face.

Her eyes were terribly swollen, the skin of her face and neck blotched from weeping. It seemed she had been pacing in her reception area, wringing her hands in distress. She caught sight of him at almost the same instant he noticed her, and she gasped and turned away from him, preparing to flee—where? The closet?

"Lady," Legolas cried. "Filauria, come here! What is the matter?"

But she shook her head and would not face him, determined to hide herself away somewhere.

The Prince reached gently for her shoulders and pressed her arms soothingly. "Turn and face me," he murmured, and she did, looking pitiful. He went on in gentle tones, as though she were a wild animal that might startle at his approach. "You must tell me what is wrong so that I may assist you. Remember my promise?" and he ducked his head to peer worriedly into her glassy eyes. "By this hand," he added, showing it to her. "Come, now. We are friends first. Please tell me."

Filauria sobbed once and looked past his shoulder, then shook her head.

"Here," the Prince said. "This will not do." And he led her carefully to her dining table, making sure she was seated and as comfortable as possible before dashing out into the hall and instructing servants to bring water and hot tea. He requested also a cool cloth for the elleth's eyes, then returned to her and took her hand.

"What can I do to ease you?" he asked softly, choosing a different tactic.

She was beginning to take slow, gasping breaths, and to quiet a little. Tears still leaked from her eyes, and she wiped at them hastily.

Belatedly, Legolas offered her a fine linen handkerchief, which she took gratefully.

She finally took a breath and croaked, "Thank you."

He smiled sadly at her and waited.

"I do not think," she continued through a hopelessly congested nose, "That I will be able to sing or play today at court."

"No one will force you," he assured her. "But of course, if you are unwell, I'd like to know why, and in what capacity I may be of service to you. Are you hurt? Sick? Valar help us, has someone mistreated you?"

The elleth's eyebrows came together and her face crumpled. She dropped her head into her hands and emitted two sharp sobs.

Legolas shifted uncomfortably in his chair and waited, unwilling to watch the carnage of a beautiful elleth crying. He had never liked it. With her, it was almost unbearable.

"I'm not sick," she finally managed to croak out. "But I cannot say I am well. There is… there is someone here I do not wish to see."

He was horrified. "Do you want me to go?" he asked, sitting up stock straight.

"Not you," she corrected hastily through her tears. "Some of the Lorien elves…"

"But I thought them your blood kin!" Legolas cried hastily. "Surely, part of you is glad to see them."

And she leaned back in her chair and sighed. It seemed the flood of tears had finally stemmed, at least for now.

* * *

I wasn't really even sure what it might be appropriate to tell him. I didn't want anyone to know—did I?

 _Sharing the whole thing might bring some relief,_ I told myself. _You've never given anyone the whole tale._

On the other hand, I feared revealing this bit of history about our family might make me seem—what? Weak? Soft, or simply too dramatic. My deep feelings on the subject seemed to fly in the face of who I was as an elleth, of what I valued. Pragmatism. Beauty. Order. Peace. This was—this was a knot of discord in an otherwise sorted life. It was messy. Dared I reveal it to anyone else? To my Prince?

He looked into my eyes so earnestly, his own a deep, glowing brown. The palm of his calloused hand was warm, covering the back of my chilled one. I could sense the concern radiating from him.

I tried one last time to divert him and be done with it. "Really," I said, sniffing and pressing my free fingertips to my aching eyes, "It doesn't matter. I do not feel well enough to entertain the guests from Lothlorien, and I think it bootless to talk about. I promise I will recover quickly, my Prince."

But that wasn't good enough for him. He pressed against the flat surface of the table and stood, striding to the tall casement windows of my bedroom. He'd left the door open, and the sound of servants approaching was growing more insistent. Then he gripped the long, silken draperies and pulled them open, bathing the room in mid-morning autumn light.

He turned back to me. "At the risk of sounding pushy," he said grimly, "No."

A gust of wind lifted a small maelstrom of autumn leaves outside the window, and I allowed myself to fixate on them for a moment.

"Whatever is wrong," the Prince continued, "Whatever has happened, I wish to mitigate it. Even if you do not tell me today or tomorrow, you can depend upon my asking you about this situation every single day until you see fit to enlighten me. Don't you see how unacceptable this is? You are not ill, yet you clearly cannot perform the office you were hired to do—and then you tell me it is because the presence of another elf is so upsetting to you that you wish to conceal yourself in these apartments all day? It is completely unlike you! How can that stand?"

When Legolas paused, I looked forlornly back up at him. "It is my problem to bear and no one else's," I said softly.

He shook his head firmly. "Not any longer."

And so I told him.

It was painful, but we sat in my chambers with cool water and blessedly hot tea and talked the whole thing through. I told him how Dalyon and I had met young and fallen in love while my younger sister was away on a pilgrimage, how it had seemed the Valar had planned our union in the heavens. I told the Prince that my mother had looked favorably on the match, and how I had begun to plan our wedding.

Then I told him how, when my sister had returned to Lothlorien flushed with the excitement of travel, Dalyon had gaped at her beauty. How when he spent time with our family, he seemed to go out of his way to get to know her. And finally, weeping, I told him how my lover had cut ties with me, explaining that Yrathea was the one his heart desired to build a life with, and that he would always love me—as a sister.

Legolas was disturbed. "What did your mother have to say about this?" he demanded.

"Dalyon was of exemplary birth," I said helplessly. "She was just happy that one of us had captured his attention. It didn't seem to matter which."

He shook his head.

I bathed my eyes with a cool cloth dipped in water. The sounds it made it the little stone bowl were comforting.

"They are both here, now—today," I finished. "They attend the Lady Galadriel. I am not certain how long the envoy will stay, but I doubt anyone knows. I cannot bear to see them so happy together."

He wasn't looking at me when he asked, "Do you still love him?"

And I frowned and glanced down at my hands. Did I?

The room seemed to grow very still while I thought, and when I finally exhaled a breath and said that I didn't know, it seemed the Prince released one as well.

"I don't think so," I added. "I just," and my eyes stung with tears. "I just want them to go away. If I never saw either of them again, that would be fine. I wish I had never met Dalyon."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "What he did was unkind." He looked over at me. "And foolish. It is his mistake—and a grave one at that. Anyone whose heart works in that cruel way is an unfit match for Filauria Ilitris. She deserves much better."

His smile warmed me until I felt my cheeks flush.

After his visit, I took a languid nap and then soaked in the baths, taking care to scrub the rough areas with salts and apply oils to my dampened skin until I glowed with it. I showed my body the care and attention it so desperately needed. I knew what I had to do that evening, and I wanted to be rested and ready for it.

As I let the warm water bear my body and soothe my cramped muscles, I recalled one of the last things Legolas had said to me before he'd left my quarters.

It had startled me, because while everyone knew that at times his eyes changed color, very rarely was anyone privy to the actual turning. At first I thought I was imagining it, that it was a trick of the light or due simply to a reflection from my wide casement window. But toward the end of our conversation, I realized I had seen my Prince's eyes move from deep brown to a honeyed hazel, and finally settle on a dark blue.

He had stood before my window and taken his leave, saying, "This is not a thing you have to do. But it would put you in a position of power once more. Remember; you are not a weak, young elleth. You have come through much, and garnered attention from very powerful members of our society—simply due to your own excellence. You need not feel any shame, for you've done nothing wrong. If you still wish to do this, and you feel fear at any point, merely look over at me and I will lend you my strength and support. Just remember to look at me."

I ducked my head under the water for a final rinse with Prince Legolas' words in my ears.

Later that evening, I dressed carefully and took my time with my hair and face. I wore the gold gown, deciding that it probably couldn't hurt to appear in something Thranduil Elvenking had already admitted he preferred.

I arranged my hair simply but thoroughly, affixing tiny braids in a geometric crown pattern at the top of my head to connote that I was unbonded to any other. The rest I let fall in loose waves to my waist.

I met my own eyes in the looking glass before I departed, noting the determined gaze I found there.


	19. Chapter 19

Hello, readers! I hope everyone has a lovely Thanksgiving holiday. Sometimes being close to family is great, and sometimes it's not so great—so I wanted to get a chapter up in case you need an escape from it all!

Thanks for reviewing, leelee202, dreamgoneby, and Angelicsailor—I love that you're enjoying my story. Writing this in an AU makes it really fun and gives me the power to decide what stays canon and what deviates. To anybody who happens to be following along, I've got this plotted through the end, but let me know where you think it's going or where you'd like it to go. I'm not averse to new ideas at all!

* * *

Thranduil took a long, luxuriant sip of Dorwinion wine. The day had gone remarkably well, even with all of its hiccups. The envoy from Lothlorien had been gracious, kind, and forbearing—even the Lady Galadriel, which wasn't always the case.

The Lorien contingent seemed especially pleased with the fare from the kitchens. _Which_ , the King thought, _makes sense, as trade in the Golden Wood isn't quite as prevalent as it is here—so close to Lake-town._

It was early evening, and a selection of elves from both kingdoms had gathered in the Great Hall to dine together. The air was filled with the pleasant sounds of clinking flatware and conversation, and the room glowed with polished glass, crystal, and candlelight. It was still bright enough outside for diners to spy the gorgeous fall colors the Mirkwood had to offer—indeed, this visit from the Lorien envoy marked the last harvest before winter truly claimed them all.

"What vintage is this, my Lord?" asked Galadriel prettily, interrupting his thoughts. Her shimmering silvery hair fell in cascades down her shoulders and back. The elleth sat absolutely straight—always. Her posture was pristine, with nary a fold of clothing out of place. She was perfect—she was intimidating.

He gave her a bland smile. "2920," he answered. "And how does it strike you?"

She tasted it again, thought, and then replied, "I like it exceedingly well. Though I confess I preferred 2921. This is sweeter."

Thranduil nodded surreptitiously at a server who set off instantly, ostensibly toward the cellars to fetch the wine for her.

Galadriel pretended not to notice and continued to nibble on the spread before them.

"There was less rain in 2920," he said noncommittally, and she nodded.

He looked down at his own plate—forest morels in butter, liver paste, dried apples, and clover sprouts—all artfully arranged. Amid the spectacle and glow of Mirkwood hospitality, he was surprised to find that his appetite had evaporated. He wanted only a slice of hearty baked bread. And then he wanted to soak in a hot bath and retire early.

A lesser Mirkwood courtier to the left of Galadriel piped up, probably hoping to engage the Lady of the Golden Wood. "How was the weather while your envoy traveled here to make merry with us?" she asked.

"Oh!" Galadriel nearly dropped the slice of peach she had been holding delicately between her thumb and forefinger. "That reminds me."

Inwardly, the Elvenking groaned. He knew that tone. That tone connoted a lecture. And it was probably meant for him.

"Thranduil," she said seriously. "Thranduil. You must do something about those forest pests. You know of what I speak."

He watched her from under striking black brows.

"They are entirely too thick on the ground," she went on insistently. "I thought you had seen to this problem last winter at my urging. My company spied two of them—two! while we navigated the Mirkwood to come to you. Luckily, the archers made a swift end of them, but really... You are in trade! What do you expect delegates to do?"

"It is being seen to," he assured her placidly.

"It had better be," she snapped. "Could you deign to face me if I came to you injured by one of those creatures?"

He stared straight back at her, his expression inscrutable. "No indeed, I could not."

"No indeed…" she repeated, and stuffed the slice of peach into her shapely mouth. Her intelligent eyes sparked dangerously, and framed with those finely shaped brows, she was formidable. Her husband had elected to stay in Lothlorien to manage affairs there, but Thranduil was sure there was more to that decision than anyone was admitting. He did not envy Celeborn.

Galadriel fell upon one of the seeded scones and looked very much as if she had more to say, but he forgot her when the far doors to the Great Hall opened and a few extra attendees filed in.

No one else seemed to notice, but Thranduil caught his breath at the sight of Filauria—the bard had come to serenade them after all! So she'd recovered, then… what the devil had been the matter with her in the first place?

Concernedly, he took her in from head to toe. She was wearing his favourite gown. She didn't look ill. Not a bit. On the contrary…

"Did you hear me?" Galadriel demanded. "I am told just now that two elflings were _murdered_ by the horrid things earlier this year? Is this true?"

"Must we discuss it now?" he asked, trying not to sound as frustrated as he felt. In truth, he was just as eager to have the matter sorted as anyone else, but one could not train up one's entire patrol in a few months or even a few years. This would be a tedious and all-consuming task. He needed to be sure they had the reserves, the population, the funding… and this was absolutely none of Galadriel's business. _Let her see to her own forest_ , he thought bitterly, _and leave mine to me._

Filauria had begun to play her lute quietly. It underscored the hall's conversation perfectly, fading into place as naturally as if the music had been there from the beginning. He tried not to stare at her as she played. What had happened earlier to keep her from attendance at court?

When the evening was nearly over, Ayduin gave a stirring speech welcoming the Lothlorien elves to Mirkwood and inviting them to sample the trade goods that had been made available to them for the occasion. Mention was made of extending the visit if the Lady Galadriel was amenable, to which she smiled very kindly but shook her beautiful head. Then there were a few poetic words about the coming on of winter and the harsh snows.

The bard stood as the councillor was speaking and took her place just off his shoulder.

"Now," Ayduin said mellifluously, "You will hear an original song by the royal bard of Mirkwood herself, Filauria Ilitris. It has been penned specifically for the occasion, and is meant to honor the Lady Galadriel and her husband Lord Celeborn. On behalf of my King and his subjects, I wish you all joy this season."

And Filauria sang. She sang like a nightingale. She sang as though she would bring the stars down around them all. She sang as if the fall leaves chasing each other about in the courtyards outside had come into the hall, turned into elves, and sat down at the table with the rest of them, whispering of the cold season to come, and of warm hearthfires, and piping cups of cider, and creamy chestnuts.

For a moment, Thranduil forgot where he was.

* * *

There were many things I wanted to do that evening. Singing for the assembly was not one of them.

I would not have minded staying in my quarters until the whole Lorien contingent had left. I thought it might be pleasant to run away into the forest and offer myself up to the spiders as their dinner. I even entertained the idea of giving in to my growing nausea and being heartily sick, and then seeing where that left me.

But I did none of these things.

The Prince had been right. I was an elleth grown, a courtier, and a well-trained performer hand-picked by the King himself.

So I took myself to the Great Hall turned out as finely as I could be under the circumstances and focused only on my music.

I was instantly aware of Yrathea and Dalyon as soon as I entered the room, but I swept past them and pretended I hadn't noticed.

After Ayduin had spoken his introduction, I gave myself over to the performance, allowing complete immersion in the lyrics. It wasn't something I did often. In general, I had been taught to keep my focus on my 'other,' on my audience. As a result, most of my performances were largely presentational, broad, and appealing. Seldom did I allow myself to turn inward and experience the emotion of the song for myself—but I knew the effect it could have. I had seen other elves perform in this way—one risked being thought of as selfish, or luxuriant, or worse, rude… But if it was handled correctly, it would be private, truthful, and fascinating, turning the audience into voyeurs.

I passed it off as an artistic choice, but I knew the real reason I chose to handle the libretto this way. It was because I was afraid.

During the last verse, I opened my awareness to the hall around me and found a sea of still faces, listening and absorbing.

My gaze darted unbidden over to where I knew my sister and her husband sat. They were staring at me, and my voice threatened to falter.

Where was the Prince? There.

My eyes found his and held there. Just as he had said, I kept my eyes on him and the hastily unraveling threads of confidence somehow stayed intact. I continued to deliver, following my song to its end.

* * *

The song was about the pain of unrequited love, and compared the falling of autumn leaves to the days and years that pass without return or acknowledgement of long-held affections.

It was so universal, so real. And Filauria filled it with such emotion that the lyrics and melody resonated with everyone.

Thranduil listened appreciatively, allowing himself the luxury of getting swept away in the music. Then he noticed she'd fixed her eyes on something.

No. Someone.

The bard was staring at Legolas, at his son. They'd locked eyes.

 _What's this?_ He wondered carefully. _Is this new? Or have I simply failed to notice?_ And then, perhaps most importantly, he thought, _Is it real?_

He didn't understand.

She had worn his favourite dress.


	20. Chapter 20

A few days later, the visitors from Lothlorien departed. The tone during the official farewells was festive, with promises from the guests to return the favor as soon as ever the royal family wished.

Legolas smirked to himself. His father would never deign to take an envoy out of Mirkwood. For a casual visit? Never. The ellon was too set in his ways, hated being away from home, and didn't trust anyone besides. The Prince resolved silently to pay his Lorien acquaintances a visit whenever it seemed meet—alone, if necessary.

The palace guard had formed up for the occasion in ceremonial dress and stood at attention while Galadriel and her party took their leave. As the visitors filed out into the forest, a small contingent of royals and half of the patrol walked with them. It was only a precaution and mostly for show anyway—but Lady Galadriel had been very solicitous when it came to accompaniment through the Mirkwood, saying that one could never be too careful, and that it was only practicing good hospitality to see them out, and a great deal many other things.

Thranduil had complied stiffly.

By now, the late autumn wind was biting, and most of the riotous leaves that had graced the trees of the Mirkwood were gone—only a few still clung to their branches, loathe to depart.

The caravan made its way through the winding wood, and Legolas glanced up into the trees. The sky was grey today, and winter's chill seemed to carry foreboding with it.

* * *

In the end, it hadn't been as uncomfortable as I'd imagined it might. On the evening of the Harvest Celebration, I didn't speak with my sister or Dalyor so much as exchange some idle pleasantries. But the next day, we caught up over a very strange breakfast, and I learned that the two of them had produced a little elfling together—my niece.

I was accustomed to Yrathea being cruel and snappish, but she had transformed into a different elleth in my absence. She seemed… tired. Too tired to hurt me anymore, at least. And the glamour I had always attributed to Dalyor's good looks and breeding failed to impress me this time. He had bags under his eyes and the promising beginning of a paunch around his middle.

Spending days on end with princes and kings seemed to be changing some of my expectations. And my taste.

The two of them were interested in what I was doing, and perhaps a little… not jealous, exactly, just—wistful.

Yrathea began to complain of Lady Galadriel's treatment before her husband shushed her. "We do not know who else may be listening, dearest," he muttered with an inane smile pasted on his face.

"Well, I must tell my troubles to someone, mustn't I?" she asked.

"Not if they don't want to hear it," he answered under his breath.

When the day came for the two of them to depart, I agreed to breakfast with them again and then walk out into the morning gloom of Mirkwood with their party, just a small fraction of the way through the forest.

It had been a long time now since I had visited my sap maple, and I noticed in surprise that the days I had expected to spend alone and rather forlorn were well passed. I hadn't visited the tree, well—because I hadn't needed to. Not overwhelmingly, at least. It was a happy realization to make. I allowed myself to take stock of my own progress, and then let it pass from my mind.

I had never seen such a glittery caravan. Galadriel and her company traveled in style and comfort, and the whole group of them moved slowly We were all flanked by the Mirkwood guard, and at the front, Thranduil Elvenking rode his giant elk Aerin. Legolas rode a well-appointed bay at his side.

At my sister's question, I put my attention back on her. "What's that?"

"I said," Yrathea repeated, "Do you have any prospects of your own?"

I blinked at her. "Prospects?"

Dalyor glanced uncomfortably up at the forest ceiling, and Yrathea snorted.

"Yes, prospects. The word is so foreign to you? Prospects in marriage?"

Many things happened at once then. When I realized what she was asking, and in whose company, the long-suppressed rage at my mistreatment surged to my awareness and I thought I might kick her. Then I had the impulse to laugh at her insensitivity, which I fought back. I finally allowed my face to assume a calm expression—of sorts—and decided not to answer her. Instead, I looked steadily at her and watched her blush.

It was at this moment that I heard a scream from the front of our column, and I stopped and craned my neck to see what was going on. Next to me, I heard an ellon curse quietly and turned to see him vigorously shaking one hand to try and rid it of—what was that? Webbing?

Then my chest went cold. Off of the path to our right, I could see countless pockets of spider's secretions clouding the underbrush and suggesting a patchy mist. How could we be in spider territory here, so close to the path? So close to the compound?

There was another scream from the unknown elleth at the front, and I saw Dalyor place a protective hand on Yrathea's arm. Quickly, like a thread unraveling, the convoy began to disperse. At the sounds of trouble, my kin mobilized, spreading themselves out among the trees and seeking sanctuary. It struck me that perhaps, while an innate impulse, this might not be the correct thing to do.

With a last glance at my sister and brother-in-law, I sped away, darting through the scattered travelers on the footpath until I could see what was happening. Then I gasped. They were upon us.

Spiders.

There were eight or nine of the fell beasts—large ones, menacing the royal party. One had snatched an ellon from the side of the column and was busy wrapping him in swathes of tight webbing. There were cries of terror from the caravan and shouts of instruction issuing from the guard.

 _Think, Fil_ , I told myself, trying not to panic. What were best to do? Place myself near the patrol? Near warriors who could protect me?

My breath was hitching in my throat. As I considered what to do next, a new dispatch of spiders flanked us at the corner. I began to count them. When I reached fourteen, I changed my tactic and decided to flee back to the palace grounds.

"Here!" I screamed, pulling on the sleeves of those around me. "To me! Courtiers!"

Several of my kin surrounded me, their faces pale with fear.

"We flee back to the palace," I cried. "Come! Tell everyone you see! Let the armed guard handle this—to safety, now!"

And for a wonder, some of them followed me.

I didn't think. I sprinted back along the footpath, leaping over root systems and fallen logs with an agility I hadn't known I possessed. I glanced periodically behind myself to be sure the others followed me. I had managed to bring quite a few of them along, and swallowed hard, hoping those left at the site of the attack would be all right.


	21. Chapter 21

Thranduil was angry.

He was angry at the foul creatures for polluting his forest. He was angry with Galadriel for bossing the lot of them around, compelling them to do whatever she saw fit. And mostly, he was angry with himself to failing to listen to his aides regarding the infestation problem. The King had assumed that the population of spiders would continue to multiply, yes, but he'd never imagined they would stray so close to the borders of the kingdom—nor that they might develop such a preference for elven flesh.

As he stared over at one of the matriarchs, he gripped the haft of one of his twin blades. That's when he noticed something strange. The large, female spider seemed to have something… attached to it.

There. Manwë, if that wasn't a harness—and a rider. A goblin.

Startled, he looked around at the other spiders. A few of them seemed to sport the same sort of rig. There were forest goblins riding these creatures, steering them into attacks and maneuvering them to an advantage.

Goblins. In his forest.

It was not to be borne.

He kicked at Aerin, who surged forward and carried him toward a cluster of the nasty things. Thranduil drew his second blade and reversed the grip on each just before slashing mercilessly into a pair of half-grown spiders. These were riderless. They shrieked and buckled, hissing thin streams of venom at him—too late.

Thranduil screamed as his blades bit into another, an elder. He took a few of the legs off before spearing the thing in the eye. Streams of bitter ichor spattered his armor and the air about him, stinking of guts and death.

From his periphery, the King could see his son Legolas firing off arrows madly. Two at a time. Three at a time. The ellon sprinted toward a large fallen log and sprang lightly up onto it, trying for a better vantage point.

A matriarch spider approached the Prince and he took the opportunity to leap up onto its back, unseating its handler and hurling him toward the ground. Even from that distance, Thranduil could hear the goblin's neck break.

Legolas trained two arrows straight down into the matriarch spider's head and fired. The beast groaned and slowly collapsed.

Thranduil's blade sang as it cut through the air, slicing first this enemy across the throat and then hamstringing that one across the back of the knee. Aerin reared as he riposted and bound off the enemies' strikes. The goblins pelted the company with their sharp, wicked-looking arrows.

Two came at him at once, and he charged them instead of slowing, dropping his blades at the last moment to maim them hard at the knees. He left puddles of blood and shrieking goblins in his wake.

Around them, elves had dispersed among the undergrowth. Most of the unarmed elfkin had taken off at a run for the palace walls, but there were several who hadn't been cognizant enough to follow—or perhaps hadn't heard or noticed. Naturally stealthy, those left had taken to hiding in the brush, crouching in the shadows of the Mirkwood trees, or clambering up into their branches.

"They can climb, too!" Thranduil heard himself screaming. "Hiding in the trees will not avail you!"

A shadow flitted over his face and the King glanced up into the drawn bow of a goblin perched on a low-hanging tree branch. Without thinking, he used one of his blades to slice through the arrow and then sink it deep into the creature's body. The skin caught at the sword and resisted at first when Thranduil yanked it back out.

He looked around and took a quick count, discerning that the elves were outnumbered. Where was Galadriel?

As if in answer, he heard her shriek. It sounded more angry than frightened, but he followed the sound anyway, dismounting and giving Aerin leave to kill and destroy.

He cut down another half-grown spider on the way.

The Lady of the Golden Wood held four spiders at bay. Some unseen wind was streaking through her robes and hair, pushing them back from her face as she glared at her attackers and spoke a series of spells. One glowing hand was trained on the group of them. "Vara tel' Sildarine," she called. "Lova poldora, templa en' tessa…"

Thranduil charged forward and sliced them down instantly, whirling so the last mounted goblin received all of his blade and split in half at the waist.

She lost no time, turning to face him amid the chaos and slaughter. "I told you," she screamed at him. "You've known for hundreds of years that this could happen. And you did _nothing_! I could kill you myself!"

He didn't answer her. He was suddenly struck by how many elfkin, both armed and unarmed, lay scattered unmoving on the forest floor.

"Aiya!"

It was Legolas. There was a large group of goblins converging on the prince, and he was firing as quickly as possible. Thranduil saw him kick one in the face. He pierced another's eyeball with his drawn arrow and then fired it at another. Legolas was unparalleled as a warrior, but he was isolated from the fight in that corner. There were too many enemies—he would need backup.

At Thranduil's whistle, Aerin was back at his side. He mounted swiftly and urged the elk forward.

The fighting seemed to intensify, and scores of nasty little skirmishes barred the way. Aerin swung his great antlers to and fro decimating scores of the detestable creatures.

It was maddening, needing to reach his son and yet not being able to. Amid the frenzy, Thranduil saw his son struck by an enemy arrow and go down.

"Legolas!" the King screamed, silvery hair flying.

Reyren came riding up then, his mount agitated by the noise and carnage.

"Find him!" Thranduil shouted over the din, and the ellon turned hard and rode on.

A few moments later, one of the larger spiders had decided it was time to make her attack. She did her best to take a bite out of the King—her pincers clacking and slakes of venomous drool issuing from her maw.

He focused on her legs, cutting them down one at a time, until her pain drove her to kneel and the impulse to crawl away began to fire.

By this point, the royal guard had rallied and the spiders and their keepers had begun to retreat.

The King caught sight of Legolas, insensible, wedged between a fallen tree trunk and a mound of soft-packed dirt.

"There!" screamed Thranduil, and the patrol descended on him.

The Prince roused for a moment and looked as if he would fight them off with his hunting knife. One or two of them sprang back in alarm, but Reyren darted forward and took the knife away, telling him, "Come, my Prince. Come! It is us!"

And as the wretched noises of the foe began to fade with their passing, the guard collected themselves, shored up the wounded, and began the trudge back to the compound.

The Prince had taken an arrow to the shoulder, which Thranduil snapped and discarded, leaving about five inches protruding from his son's chest. He had lost enough blood to be dizzy and unreliable on his feet, so they hoisted him up into the saddle in front of his father.

Thranduil wrapped his arms around the ellon and encouraged him to lean back and relinquish his body weight to the King.

"Goheno nin," Thranduil whispered into the ellon's hair. "Odulen an edraith angin."

When they'd all but reached the retaining wall, the Prince fainted and had to be carried inside.

* * *

When the small contingent of elves reached the compound, I stopped at the gate and hurried them through.

"Go to your homes," I told them insistently. "Take the wounded to the house of healing."

My breath came quickly, burning in my throat from having run so far.

My sister and Dalyon had returned, pale and shaking but unhurt. Not far behind them stalked the Lady Galadriel, looking as if she might incinerate anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

There was a commotion toward the back of the column, and I caught sight of several officials—including Ilitren Reyren—riding back into the compound. For a moment, I thanked the Valar that Chalia hadn't yet been assigned to patrol duty.

And then I saw the King, resplendent and looking fiercer than I'd ever imagined, atop Aerin, his elk.

In his arms was Legolas.

Everything about that moment was wrong. The crown Prince Legolas, generally so self-sufficient and utterly glorious in battle, was insensible. The front of his jerkin was speckled with blood, most of which was concentrated at his left breast. His eyebrows were drawn together in pain, his lips parted. With his head lolling slightly and all of his body weight entrusted to the King, it became apparent how large he was, and how well-muscled. He looked heavy.

Thranduil rode steadily on through the courtyard, not deigning to look at anyone. He was an ellon singularly focused—looking as though he were considering how best to quickly get his son to a healer without further agitating the injury.

Aerin stopped at Thranduil's command, and the King looked to those around him.

"Reyren," he said quietly, grimly. "Here…"

And the commander general assisted him, gingerly helping to lower the Prince from the saddle. Several members of the patrol sprang forward also, and carefully, the group lifted Legolas to carry him inside.

Thranduil dismounted and stayed a moment longer, looking dazed and handing off his reins to a guard. "I need…" he muttered to no one and nothing. "It should be cleaned…"

"Fil!"

It was Chalia. She was in full dress and had been manning the wall, and now she rushed toward me in a swell of gratitude. Enveloping me in her arms, she cried, "I was so worried! I thought you might have been one of the injured ones…"

I hugged her, feeling the warmth of her back, damp with excitement or fear.

When I pulled away from her, I became aware of Thranduil King moving toward us. "I need able-bodied elves," he was saying to a patrol member. "Two or three…" and then his gaze fell on us. "You'll do," he said to Chalia suddenly. "You will come with me, and—" here he glanced down at my slim fingers and then smiled grimly at me. "And you. We've need of you, bard."

The two of us exchanged glances and then followed Thranduil inside to the dim palace corridors.

* * *

Translations:

Goheno nin = Forgive me (Literally translated, the forgiver and forgive-ee are equals)

Odulen an edraith angin = I came to save you


	22. Chapter 22

The Elvenking strode through the halls of the palace, his flowing robes streaming out behind him. Chalia and I followed. I stole a glance at her, but she was staring straight ahead now, focused on our task.

I wondered what King Thranduil had meant when he'd said the company needed me. I was no healer, that was certain. How could I help?

The room where the Prince had been deposited was teeming with activity. Elves of all stripes, Silvan, Sindar, high-born, common, ellith and ellyn alike filtered in and out, bearing fresh cloths and bowls of warm water.

Upon entering, I fought the urge to instantly flee. It felt so wrong to be present. Legolas was unconscious still and had been stripped from the waist up so the healers could see to his wounds.

It was an arrow, I realized—staring stupidly over at the bloody stump of wood protruding from his chest. It made me sick, and I looked away, unwilling to watch the way the snapped bolt rose and fell with his breath.

At that moment, a low moan issued from the corridor outside, and I saw more elfkin staggering in from the Mirkwood, bloodstained and battered.

So the Prince had not been the only casualty.

It was then that I thought of the warning Chalia had given me weeks earlier. _It was the spiders, Fil,_ she had said. _They were abducted and debased by spiders. They'd been drained of blood. Who knows what happened to their fëa!_

I shivered. This was a known threat. And it had gone unmarked.

As I stared back down at the prone form of the Prince, I grew suddenly angry at the needless injustice of it. I felt my face colour and chanced to look up into Thranduil's cool, blue eyes.

He wore a worried frown, but when he noticed me turn to look at him, he met my gaze, canting his head at me curiously. We held there for a long moment and I willed the thought at him.

 _You knew._

His eyes fluttered as if I'd struck him, but I did not turn away. We'd never spoken of the infestation openly, but the whole populace knew of it—knew of his apathy on the situation, on the way he'd dragged his kingly feet and found every reason on Middle Earth he should not act immediately. It was treason to criticize the monarch; we'd all just hoped that this day wouldn't come and that we'd never have to face what it brought. He'd done it to himself. And to us.

 _You knew,_ I thought savagely at him. _And you would let these beasts roam your forest—your own, dear Mirkwood—and attack your own people. Your son! Look at what has happened to your son!_

The King cast his eyes down and I drew a surprised breath, wondering if he'd actually heard my thoughts.

* * *

He knew that look. That was reproach, and righteous anger. He'd only ever seen one elleth give him that look, and he'd hated every second of it, never wishing to invoke it again.

What had he done? _Sweet Valar,_ he thought.

The bard was staring at him and would not stop, and his son lay unconscious and bleeding before them all.

More quickly than he could have imagined, it all built up inside of him and became too much. Any feeling so intense that it poured out of his psyche and into the room became palpable anger. Sadness, when he could not control it, turned into anger. His fear often masqueraded as anger. Confusion—anger, of course.

"What?" he snapped suddenly at the elleth before he even knew what he was doing.

Filauria's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and the elleth from the patrol turned to look at him with concern.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he demanded, knowing this was dangerous, knowing that there was a better time and place to do this.

The bard gave him an incredulous scoff. "You're joking, yes?" she asked.

That further irritated him.

"Please," begged one of the healers quietly. "Not now, Your Majesty…"

"What am I not to do just now?" he snipped at the older elleth. "Speak? In my own palace?"

The healer shrugged her shoulders and kept her eyes down on her task. She was mixing a set of tonics—topical or oral, he did not know, and the stirrer clinked relentlessly in the fragile glass container.

Another healer, an ellon with an apron tied around his waist, strode confidently into the room. He put a hand on the Prince's motionless legs and breathed a healing prayer before beginning.

The distraction was a welcome one, but Thranduil could not escape the judgement in Filauria's eyes. He remembered then that there was something, perhaps, between his son and the bard.

And that also made him angry.

"If you need assistance," he growled at the ellon, indicating Chalia and Filauria. "Use them. One's in the King's guard, and the other has fine, flexible fingers. She manages to control herself well. Generally."

While a set of flames leapt up in Filauria's eyes, the healer frowned and glanced over at her hands in an appraising manner.

The Elvenking took this opportunity to escape. "Excuse me," he murmured, his temper just about to spill out over everyone in the room. He shouldered past the patrol elleth and ducked out into the corridor.

He was headed for his own private quarters to try and regain some of his composure when he heard a feminine voice say simply, "No."

He knew who it was without turning around.

"Do not do this," he warned her. "I cannot vouch for my temper at this time."

"Do not do what?" Filauria asked him. "Follow you?"

He turned to face her, feeling his nostrils flare with the effort of keeping himself in check.. "Whatever it is you are going to do or say, just stop it," he snapped. "My heart is heavy with worry and regret, and I'm in no mood for one of your fits."

A wash of incredulity came over her face. "One of my _fits_? Are you referring to those fleeting moments when I remind you to be decent and courteous?"

Thranduil moved very close to her and looked down into her big, brown eyes. "I tell you again, bard," he warned her quietly. "You tread on dangerous ground. This is not the time to make a statement regarding my behavior. I am King of the Greenwood, and you owe me your respect and honor."

She looked steadily up at him.

 _Fearless_ , he thought in grudging admiration.

"You should not leave your son," she said, and that surprised him. "He needs you. The healers are going to pull the arrow out and you should be there if he awakens."

He looked away from her, trying in vain to relieve some of the tension. "He has all the healers he could ever need," he replied. "What could I do for Legolas that they cannot?"

"Be his father," she returned without hesitation. "And be present for him. None but you can hold this office."

There was a pause while he peered out the window at the bare forest outside.

"My King," she said, and it was a soft sound this time, but he could not look at her. "It is a frightening time for everyone," she went on. "Which is all the more reason none of us should face it alone."

Thranduil's great brows knit together in consternation. He desired only to wander off and seek solace in drink. Why did this young elleth seem to have such a good case against that?

She placed one of her little hands on his arm, then worriedly prodded, "My King?"

But he jerked away from her touch as if burned. "What," he snarled, glowering at her, "Did we learn last time about uninvited physical touch?"

Filauria shrank from him.

He was just thankful she had not seen the shiver that had coursed through him a moment before.

"I thought you might be unwell," she explained, "And I was worried."

There was a slight pause while he considered this. The thought did not displease him. "I did take a small scratch in my side," he murmured. "But it does not pain me overmuch. I can see to that later."

Clouds of worry were gathering behind her eyes, and she straightened. "You must have it looked at right away," she said evenly to him. "Even the smallest cut can be rendered fatal where poison is administered, and I heard from one of the guards that these goblins dip their arrows."

Thranduil turned to face her. She was a head shorter than he was, and looked up at him with her wide, concerned eyes. Her hair was a tumbling array of golden, coppery brown strands, and her chest was flushed. _She ran all the way back here,_ he remembered suddenly, and then a quick flash of her raced through his mind—Filauria, gathering the scattered elfkin on foot and instructing them to follow her back to the gates, to run…

Lost in thought, he stared into her face. _Brave_ , he thought. _She is a brave elleth. Strong._

"You will go to him?" she was demanding. "Thranduil King?"

He quite liked his name on her lips.

"My King!" she said again, and he realized she was flushed because she was angry.

Here he was, lusting after this—this courtier, and his son lay dying a mere room away. It was unforgivable.

"You will have your wound seen to, and then you will go back to attend your son?" she was demanding. "To assist the healers? If you are worried, I will be there with you. But this is important. You must not leave him!"

"You have made your case," he replied hoarsely.

"It's about time someone did," was her sharp retort. It was so like something _she_ might have said hundreds of years ago that he was struck dumb and could not reply.

The elleth left to return to the Legolas' chambers, calling over her shoulder, "I will be attending the Prince. Come if you are so inclined."

Thranduil watched her for a moment. Then he followed.


	23. Chapter 23

Shoutout to leelee202 - thanks for reading and reviewing! And thanks, readers, for your patience with this story. I know some time tends to slide by in between updates, but hopefully the story is enough fun to offset that. Happy February!

* * *

The elleth was as good as her word. She stood by grim-faced that whole afternoon, assisting the healers as they tended to the prince.

Thranduil focused on the steady rise and fall of Legolas' chest and tried not to think of poisons doing their slow and terrible work, nor of arteries and veins and the diminished and feeble way they pulsed at his son's throat.

The initial healing took hours.

While several ancient spells were invoked, the lead healer removed the shaft of the arrow. The elleth from the patrol—Chalia was her name—held the prince down, while he, the healer, dug about mercilessly until the head could wriggle about in the wound. Not only was the apex of the arrowhead sharp, the two side-edges ended in wicked points as well, and Thranduil thought to himself that pulling the thing from the prince's body might well be doing him just as much injury as when it had originally gone in.

As the lead healer worked, fresh blood welled up in the wound, and an aide stood by to mop it up with fresh cloths and speak healing prayers over it.

Finally, the shaft and head came free with a horrible squelching noise, and someone in the periphery of the room was quietly sick.

Any pieces of splintered wood or debris, the healer gave over into the bard's waiting hands, and several times, he asked her to peer into the wound to check for more foreign objects. Her thin fingers were soon coated with blood, and Thranduil saw her blanch. But she seemed determined to hold fast until the session was over.

Legolas was happily unconscious the entire time, either from sheer loss of blood or his body's own need to numb itself.

When the initial healing was mostly over, the ellon in charge turned to dismiss them. "Now that the danger of the puncture has been seen to," he explained, "We fight the infection and attempt to strengthen him."

Thranduil shot a glance at Filauria, who nodded unsteadily at the healer.

"Thank you for your help," the ellon added. "You are a good elleth to have about in a crisis."

She smiled gamely and then swayed where she stood.

The king took a quick step forward, the sleeping form of his son momentarily forgotten. "Here," he said softly, and offered the bard his velvet wrap, settling it gently about her shoulders. Dazed, she took it and pulled it more tightly around herself.

Their eyes met for a moment, and something passed between them—Thranduil was not sure what. Something kindled in his chest, a need to do—what? "You need rest, and water," he stammered at her, and she nodded again.

As they left the room and he watched the bard make for her quarters, he missed the raised eyebrows and glances exchanged by others in the room.

* * *

I returned numbly to my apartments and fell into my bed, losing consciousness almost instantly.

I know not how long I slept, but when I next awoke, it was early twilight. I sat up groggily and surveyed the room, disoriented. My throat was parched, my mouth dry.

I listened to the silence for a while. The palace seemed to be holding its breath. _How fares the prince?_ I wondered. Then the terrible thought followed: _Does he live?_

It was then that I noticed the deep brown bloodstains on my hands and forearms. I had neglected to wash when I'd left the others, and now my stained skin forced me to accept the immediacy, the severity, of what we'd all gone through the night before.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them away and tried to swallow down the lump in my throat.

I resolved to get up, if only for a moment.

Quietly, I padded out into the hall. It seemed I floated like the most solitary and forlorn of ghosts as I made my way to the kitchens. I asked one of the cooks for watered wine and drank it down slowly. When it was gone, I asked for another cup and then made to return to my quarters.

I thought I might bathe. I smelled of blood and my own fear sweat. My hair was bedraggled and my face felt grimy. Manwë, I'd worn the same clothes for nearly three days! The more I considered it, the more welcome the idea of sinking gratefully into the steaming water became. My pace quickened and I headed that way.

I had turned a corner and was entering one of the open scroll libraries when I was startled by a dark form waiting in one of the armchairs. My body tensed and I bit back the scream that threatened to burst from me.

The figure started.

"Valar," he cursed, and it was the king.

He came to his feet, and as the paltry light touched his features, I could see he was in much the same state I was. Deep circles edged his eyes as though he had not slept. His robes were wrinkled and stained, and his already pale complexion had taken on an unearthly tone. The blackness of his strong brows stood out in sharp relief as he knit them together, regarding me.

"Are you—well?" he asked.

"I think so," I replied. "Only exhausted. But how is the prince?"

The king looked both relieved and somehow sad as he answered me. "He will live," he said brokenly. "He will live. His recovery may take some time, but he is strong. And," he said, giving me a strange look, "He has much to live for."

"That is true," I agreed absently.

We stood there for sometime, both lost in thought.

"You look terrible," he said finally, and I cracked a smile.

"I could say the same, your majesty."

Slowly, he took a few steps closer to me, his eyes locked on mine. "Why don't you?" he asked.

"You look terrible, too," I replied, almost whispering.

With a small smile, he drew still closer. "Have you slept?" he asked gently. "Eaten? Do you need water?"

"I—" I could not look away from those hypnotic blue eyes, and an unexpected warmth began to spread through my body, beginning at the apex between my legs.

Thranduil Elvenking reached me and offered his hands in the dark. I took them.

At his touch, I reeled.

His fingers were long and his palms rough. He was warm. Unconsciously, almost, his hands cradled mine and mine responded, finding a comfortable resting position immediately. "Whatever you need," he continued. "Name it, and it is yours."

I nodded dumbly.

With his thumb, he tenderly stroked the back of my hand. "Thank you," he added.

I looked at him, unable to do much else. I am not sure how long we stood that way as the light of the Mirkwood continued to darken around us in the scroll library.

Outside, one of the first brisk snows of winter had begun to fall. Well, not fall. Blow, more like. The wind was harsh and changeable, and flurries rode the frigid air like darts seeking to gouge their victims.

Finally, I muttered something about bathing and Thranduil nodded.

He brought my right hand up to his mouth and slowly turned it over until the sensitive flesh of my palm was exposed. Then he lowered his head and pressed warm lips to the skin there.

The touch seared and I tried not to gasp. My mind raced. Just this one interaction suggested much about the kind of lover Thranduil King might be in a private setting, and the idea was heady, threatening to overwhelm me.

Slowly, slowly, he lowered our hands and his fell away.

I gave him a deep, respectful curtsy, and he seemed to flinch at it.

Then I made my way to the baths.

* * *

He could smell her. Valar, but he could still smell her.

Thranduil lay in his enormous bed with the sheets twisted in all manner of chaos about his own substantial frame.

She hadn't bathed since the attack, and the smell of her sweat was both sweet and spicy. He groaned. He could have taken her right there. He had wanted to kiss her so badly.

As it was, he had the feeling he'd erred. Had he gone too far? _The royal bard,_ he thought, trying it out for the thousandth time. _A courtier and a king._

Seemly it was not. But it was also not impossible. Worse had happened at the court of the Greenwood.

He wanted her. She had seemed to respond, he thought, but it was difficult to tell. It was dark, and she had been careful—and good for her. But how did the elleth really feel about him? And what of his son? Then Thranduil cursed himself, cursed his own selfishness. There were unspoken feelings there, he knew. This was dangerous.

This was dangerous.

* * *

I awoke late the next morning.

After breakfasting and refreshing myself, I donned some more comfortable clothing and then slowly made my way to the music library under the audience chamber.

Everything that had happened in the scroll library the night before seemed like a fantasy.

 _Was it a dream?_ I thought. _Or did it all truly happen?_ Was my perception of the events skewed at all? The image of the king himself lipping at my palm struck me like fire and I hesitated on the stairs for a moment, swaying a little.

What had that been about?

He could have been trying to express deep gratitude. He must have noticed how I'd collected any stray elfkin I could find and led them back through the paths to the compound. Was that it? Or was it the hours I'd spent with the healers tending to the prince?

 _The prince,_ I thought then, guiltily.

I had no idea what to do next.

 _Your job,_ came the thought reproachfully. _Perform the office you were brought here to fulfill, and think no more on this._ I was only a courtier. The idea that something more was expected of me from these two ellyn in my life made me a little angry. Though half of my fëa found the attention pleasing, the other half wanted to be left alone.

I sighed and resolve to stay busy. I would attempt to withdraw from them both and see if we couldn't just carry on the way we had been.

 _They'll forget_ , I told myself. _If there is interest there, they will both forget_. _I am the royal bard, and I will continue to do my work until there is none left to do or until I am unequal to it. As much as I can, I will hold myself apart._

I wondered if I could confide any of this to Chalia. I missed her.

The music library awaited, and I put my mind on that for the time being.

This was a place I was coming to know almost as well as my own spacious apartments. Over the months that I had been at court, a slow transformation had occurred in the dark, dingy rooms. The staircase leading down into the inner sanctum was clear and free of debris now, and many of the shelves were—miraculously—in order. There was still much to do, though, and sometimes during long days of cleaning and organization when a great stack of scrolls might tip over or the work didn't progress as quickly as I felt it should, I left the library near frustrated tears.

It was a project that would take some time, and it appeared there was no way to expedite that.

Today, I moved silently about the room, breathing in the smell of the dust and the ancient scrolls and enjoying that feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that one gets during moments of intense quietude.

I'd unearthed a few old volumes recently that I'd set aside and was planning to give to the court historians—more ancient tales of elven heroes, and I considered them now.

 _Ragnaril the White_ , one read. The other was called _Hedrian: A Life_. With a finger, I traced the spines of each.

I was aware of Ayduin coming down to fetch me long before he announced himself. "Lady," he said pleasantly. "Good morning. Are you well?"

I nodded, but the screams of my elven kinsmen came unbidden to my mind, and my nostrils recalled the smell of hot blood and fear that had so pervaded the prince's chambers some hours before. Then the image of Thranduil King kissing my hand and my resultant reactions to this rose up and joined all of that. I gulped.

The older ellon seemed to understand, somewhat. "I hesitate to ask," he began.

But I gave him an encouraging smile, sensing a task ahead of me. One that might clear my mind of the past day's events. "Ask away," I told him. "I am at your service!"

And he smiled back. "I thank you," he answered, relieved. "But it is not for me. The prince…"

"Prince Legolas?" I asked, alarmed now. "How fares he today?"

"Oh, better than last evening," Ayduin said slowly. "To be sure, much better. Only uneasy. The wound pains him, I think, quite a bit. And he calls for his bow, and says he will leave and go to hunt."

I found myself shaking my head. _Impatient as ever._

"I wonder," continued Ayduin. "Would you—might you consider... entertaining the prince?"

Before I could stop myself, I'd quirked an eyebrow at him. "Meaning?"

And the advisor cast about a little desperately before settling his gaze on _Ragnaril the White_ and _Hedrian._ "You might read to him, you know. You are the royal bard. Music may not be appropriate at the moment, but while Prince Legolas attempts to rest and heal, a few epic poems or stories might be effective. It could take his mind off of the wound—and he might be less tempted to try the will of his healers, which I understand is a problem just now."

There were about a hundred things I would rather do. I was supposed to be slinking away, becoming invisible and avoiding the royal gaze, at least for a time. I gave Ayduin a long, steady look. "Is it your belief that my presence would be welcome in the royal chambers? And during such a fragile time?"

He did not hesitate. "It is. You cannot be ignorant of how his mood lifts when you are around in general…"

I felt myself colour slightly.

"Indeed, I have seen your voice shift the very current of the audience chamber of an evening!" he finished. "Of course, you have been taxed as well, poor thing. If you are too fatigued, there is no shame in admitting it."

"I am only a little tired," I replied. "And if bardic services are requested, they shall certainly be proffered. My mother was not stingy with her bedtime stories when I was ill as a younger elleth, and I believe myself the better for it."

I stood and dusted off my hands.


	24. Chapter 24

Thanks for the reviews, leelee202 and DaddysLiitleGirl! I'm serving you all some more angst and pining this week. Also, I tend to work ahead, so I have more written than this—and I like to look at it a few times before chapters go live... anyway, I've got some steaminess coming up in the next post. Some things went in a direction that surprised me... you'll see! Enjoy this chapter, and happy March!

* * *

Only a short time later, I was ushered into the prince's chambers. One of the healers was urging him to recline back, but he would not.

"Sleep," the elleth was telling him gently. "The body repairs itself in sleep…"

"But it is full daylight," he protested.

"...Yes, your highness, it is. And you've a _great deal_ of healing to…"

They saw me.

"Filauria," Legolas said suddenly. "Tell them to let me up."

I smiled and gave curtsy to the room in general, then requested that a chair be drawn up to the bedside so I might sit near the Prince.

"Filauria," he said again. "You must make the healers see reason."

I scooted a bit closer to him in my chair.

The prince's eye were a sparkling blue today. His hair, for the first time in my recollection, was unbraided and fell silkily around his broad shoulders. The room smelled of him—of clean but convalescent male—not unpleasant.

"How are you today?" I asked him.

"Well enough," he answered stoutly. I noticed that a mountain of pillows had been smashed up into the headboard behind him.

"Are you in pain?"

He nodded. "Of course. A great deal."

It was a testament to my kin, and I didn't doubt him. A man might lie just where the prince was now, screaming, unable to draw breath, even. The prince's pain was only evident in the new lines around his eyes, the slight clench to his handsome jaw, and the way his fëa vibrated like a struck bell.

"So you are in pain," I said soothingly to him. "Why this rage to get up and walk around, then?"

He glanced at me, then out his window, eyes lighting on branches and birds, boughs and brooks. "I hear what they are saying," he conceded. "That I am lucky to be alive. The wound is serious, I know. And I know I am to sleep and rest and let the healers do their work. But the medicines they give me for the pain do not help, and I think I would be easier if I but had something to focus my mind on."

I grinned at him. "That is why I have been summoned, my prince."

He looked incredulous. "I daresay you'd never agree to sneak me out of here…"

"No, I would never. But I am the royal bard, after all. I live my days in service to you!"

When he still looked at me appraisingly, I added, "I come to distract you, highness. Songs, stories. Poetry."

"Ah."

Legolas looked skeptically down at the two volumes in my hands, but nodded. "I've always loved listening to you perform. Dearly. I just…" And he looked longingly out the casement again. "I suppose there's nothing for it," he said suddenly. "If I must stay here and get through this…"

"And you must," I interjected.

"We may well make it as pleasant as possible." And he gave a heavy sigh as if about to endure a lecture of some sort.

Amused, I opened _Ragnaril the White_. "I am so pleased you appreciate my company and the time I take out of my day to demonstrate my fealty to you and the house of the Greenwood."

He looked chastened. "I'm sorry, Fil."

I glanced up at him.

"Filauria," he corrected himself, looking stricken.

"It's all right," I told him softly. "Those I count friends call me that."

Legolas gave me a small, tentative smile. "I'm glad." There was a pause that felt deafening, and then he added, "I've been very frustrated. Please, forgive me."

Trying to ignore the way my heart had leapt in my chest at my familiar childhood endearment on the lips of Legolas, Prince of the Mirkwood Realm, I swallowed hard and began reading.

* * *

He did not sleep.

A healer came to Thranduil's private rooms early the next morning and examined the scratch the Elvenking had sustained in his side. It was angry-looking and weeping, but the ellon confirmed it was not poisoned. Careful fingers spread a thick salve over the area, and then clean, dry bandages were applied to his waist.

"Highness, with all due respect," the ellon scolded gently, "What were you thinking?"

Thranduil could only watch, fascinated as the deft fingers worked the fragrant salve into the wound.

"To take that extra time, first with the prince and then… well, I don't know what you did after that. Why did you not call for aid? Sire, if the blade had been poisoned…"

"But it wasn't," interjected Thranduil vaguely, allowing his attention to focus on the Mirkwood outside his window—chill and snowy.

"And thank the Valar," added the young ellon.

The king only nodded to himself.

After the healer left him, he dressed and then set out to walk the compound, hoping to find distraction of some sort.

He was glad that daylight had dawned at least. The events of the previous two days had been traumatic, though he had to admit it was nothing to the horrors he had seen in battle.

Twice, he looked in on his son and found him sleeping, and he even surprised himself by arriving at the bard's door—at Filauria's door. He named her now, because she'd put herself in danger for the court. She may have helped to save the prince. And he named her to comfort himself, because he could not seem to put her sweet voice out of his head.

The evening that she'd warbled that love song in front of the whole court—directing her attention at Legolas—flashed brightly in his memory then, and he wondered yet again just who this elleth was to his son.

Would she join the royal family at some point? If and when Legolas recovered, would she become Thranduil's daughter-in-law?

He snorted derisively at himself.

A chill draft reached him as he stood in the hall, and he shivered. Silvery wind brushed the gentle drifts outside, lifting crystalline dustings of snow high into the air. _So late,_ he thought. It was so late in the year already. Soon, the winter solstice would be upon them.

He had no idea what to do. He was worried sick over his son. And if the Elvenking was honest, he'd hoped to meet the bard by chance in one of the vestibules, but she was nowhere to be found. _Probably resting,_ he thought guiltily. _As you should be._

In the end, he decided to wander into the upstairs library with a mug of mulled wine.

Others in the compound seemed to float past him, understanding that he was troubled and wanted most to be left alone.

He found himself something to read—some obscure, morose poetry that fit his mood, and waited. For what, he did not know.

After some hours, Thranduil peered out into the Mirkwood and found that it had stopped snowing. He felt bleary, his mind halting and his body misused—he needed sleep. He would seek his bed, he decided.

On the way back to his apartments, Thranduil chanced to look in on Legolas and was surprised to find Filauria also in the room attending him. She had lain a dusty old book down on the coverlet and was pointing out something to the prince—something visual, a picture or a map, by the look of it.

He watched them darkly for a moment, feeling weak.

For the first time in a while, Legolas appeared easy, quieted, and comforted. The Elvenking recalled times when his son was a very young ellon and the nightmares had come… only the wife of Thranduil King was ever able to soothe and calm the young prince. His own efforts to the purpose were bootless, no matter how hard he tried.

Now that the prince had matured into a near-perfect specimen with broad shoulders and sculpted limbs, the connotations were entirely different.

Her quick hands illustrated something intangible in the air, tracing unknown patterns there as she explained something to Legolas. A few soft strands of her coppery brown hair had fallen down around her face, and Thranduil ached to see it. How had this happened? The bard had found her way to his halls and somehow found purchase there, her roots beginning to wind as deeply down into the fertile soil as did the ancient trees of the Mirkwood.

He hoped she would never leave. And if she should agree to give her heart to his son, he never wanted to see her again.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Legolas became more familiar with the walls of his chamber than he imagined any creature ought. But those close to him continued to urge him to rest, and so he continued to recover.

He began to request that Filauria come to his rooms and attend him, which she seemed happy to do.

He even enriched his understanding of ancient elven lore, content to listen to the bard and ask questions after she had recited or read to him.

It was infinitely more interesting to hear her accounts of elvish history than he remembered from his days in training. She had a way of looking at the information from all sides—considering race, gender, religion and culture in her disseminations—that was fascinating to him.

Thranduil Elvenking visited him often, checking in brusquely before offering his good wishes and departing. Legolas noticed one afternoon that his father never stayed long if Filauria was there. Strange.

 _Well,_ he thought, incoherently. _Perhaps he's gotten over his... interest…_

And then the prince fell back into healing sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

Hello! and welcome back to my story. I've been nervous to post this chapter, but this is what the characters wanted to do! Fair warning: smut ahead. And also: same sex smut. If that upsets you, maybe skip this chapter.

I'm very busy now at my new job, so keeping the updates rolling has been difficult, but I know I've got an awesome group of readers that is very supportive and patient. Camp Nano is coming in April, so I'm hoping to lean in there and up my word count. As always, let me know what you think and what you'd like to see me write about. The farther I get with this story, the more things I'm seeing that I want to go back and edit—but I'm resisting! For now, I'm going to pour everything out "on paper" as it were, and I'll worry about cleaning edits later.

Thank you again for reading, and enjoy!

* * *

Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm was mending, and I was so relieved, I was weak with it.

If this continued, he'd be up and about soon, out in the forest he loved so well—and we'd be able to put this strange… flirtation… behind us. I fantasized that perhaps everything would go back to the way it had been. The way it _should_ have been from the beginning.

Where both the prince and the Elvenking were concerned, I was highly uncomfortable.

I had no wish to become embroiled in a kingdom-wide scandal, thoroughly embarrassing myself and losing my job into the bargain. I would have faced the spiders of Mirkwood rather than endure a shamefaced return to Lothlorien, especially necessitated by a falling-out with the royal family.

 _And it might come to just that_ , I thought ruefully to myself as I made my way to the baths one winter morning in the Court of Mirkwood.

As terrible as Legolas' injury had been, it had at least provided everyone with a distraction. True, I'd spent many hours in his company, entertaining him with poems, songs, and stories, but he hadn't focused solely on me. Chiefly, his body needed to heal.

The soft sounds my feet made in the hall brought me back to the present, and I thought through the rest of my day. It was early morning now. I would bathe and try to relax. Then I would spend some hours in the music library continuing to tidy up. Around luncheon, the prince would almost certainly call for me, so I would go to his rooms. I made a mental note to collect some interesting pieces of literature that he hadn't seen yet.

I nearly collided with Chalia, who was on the way to the baths herself.

"Oh!" she cried, as we danced back and forth for a moment, and then we laughed and she caught me tightly by the waist before I lost my balance. I felt her long, silken hair brush one of my arms, and my skin broke out in gooseflesh.

"Good morning," I said, still laughing.

"Good morning," she returned with a smile. When we'd steadied ourselves, she linked arms easily with me and we continued down the hall.

"So—" we both said at the same time, and laughed again.

"You go first," said Chalia quickly.

I shrugged and shook my head. "I was only going to ask how you were. I feel I haven't seen you in weeks."

"I think you must be right," she agreed. "How does the prince fare? The last time we were together, I believe we were helping a healer pull an arrow from his chest."

"Yes," I said gravely, shuddering. "There are only a few moments in my life I wish never to relive. That is one of them. But to answer you, the prince is recovering. He grows stronger every day."

"That's a relief," she said. "You've got quite the stomach, I must say," she added.

I shrugged. "I only did as commanded."

"Perhaps," she said pensively.

There was a strange little silence between us, and then we'd reached the entrance. She gestured that I should precede her, so I did.

Immediately, the steamy air surrounded us, and I inhaled gratefully. The two of us approached one of the intricately carved stone benches and began to shed our clothing.

Chalia was so beautiful. We'd seen each other undressed many times, but in consternation, I found my skin flushing this morning at her nearness. I tried to keep my eyes averted so she wouldn't notice.

"How have you been?" I asked, attempting to sound casual.

She tossed her last underthing onto the bench and made her way to the pool. "I'm very well," she replied after a moment. "But busy. The patrol is being tested by these new orders."

I nodded, but wasn't sure what she meant.

"How are you liking the guard?" I prompted, following her in.

Together, we relaxed into the warm water, breathing a collective sigh of satisfaction as it enveloped our bodies.

Chalia dunked her head and resurfaced, slicking her long, dark hair back. "I'm relieved," she answered then.

"Relieved?"

And she nodded. "I was so unhappy before, thinking of how undefended the compound was. Now, I take an active part in securing our borders." She lowered her chin to the surface of the steaming pool, clearly enjoying the heat. "And not that one elleth like me makes all the difference, but I believe that my lobbying for active patrols of the forest is what moved the king to send the guard out."

I stood suddenly, feeling the rush of water from my limbs and the tepid air brushing my skin. "What?"

"Well, you remember," she cried, laughing a little. "Thranduil Elvenking wasn't going to do a single thing about the spiders. Admittedly, the attack on the prince may have been what resolved him at the last, but…"

My mouth had fallen open. It was the first I'd heard of any of this.

"I was extremely outspoken," Chalia was saying, "Both with my officers and with the prince himself… you know how I can be…"

"The patrols are going out into the Mirkwood?"

She broke off and looked up at me. "Fil," she said, concern suddenly flooding her face. "Sit down—you've gone pale."

I plopped myself back down in the water, succeeding only in splashing Chalia, choking myself, losing my balance, and finally toppling over backward. A few moments later when I'd coughed the last of the water from my lungs, I looked her in the eye and demanded, "Start from the beginning."

She laughed. "I supposed it's been a while since we've spent any time together. I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

I shook my head, very concerned now. "I knew this was something you cared deeply about," I told her, "But I didn't imagine you'd be placed on active patrol _yourself_."

She trailed one of her arms languidly through the water. "I'm happy to do it, Fil. I _wanted_ to do it. From the beginning, I approached the prince and spoke to him about why I thought our kingdom was in danger. Remember? They made that exception and I was allowed to apply for the guard outside of the normal rotation?"

I felt my eyes narrow, and my mind worked to process it all.

"And I passed," she added with a smile. "Prince Legolas said he hadn't seen a recruit do so well in at least two hundred years. I was nervous to do it—for a lot of reasons…"

I noticed for the first time how her chest reddened when she spoke of the prince, and my mind began to put the pieces together.

"...And then, once I was enlisted, I stayed focused on my goal. I spoke to everyone I could. I had this idea that instead of keeping the guard here at the compound and fending off any beasts that happened to stray too close, we should take the fight straight to them. After a while, others started to listen. My officer took most of the credit for this new venture, but I don't mind too much as long as the Court of Mirkwood is kept safe. Now, groups of us go out into the wood every day and hunt them."

My mouth was dry. "How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, weeks, now. It's going well. I've felled several of them myself."

I felt a little faint. "Oh, Valar. Oh, Chalia—you're being careful, yes? You're armed, protected?"

She gave me one of her most winning smiles. "Of course! Have you ever seen the guard fight? Think of the training you went through, Fil—we are physically and mentally the most exemplary warriors in all of Middle Earth. I'd like to see a spider try and hurt me."

There was a little lull, and then I said quietly, "They hurt the prince."

I watched her carefully this time, and her face changed, new lines of concern appearing under her eyes. "Yes," she whispered.

I wondered how I'd never seen it before… was I not paying attention when the two of us attended the prince in his quarters? Or when Chalia spoke of him to me before enlisting?

"I'm glad—" she said slowly, "That he has you to keep him company while he's healing. That must make the time go faster for him. And I couldn't imagine a more talented or beautiful storyteller."

"Chalia…" I began.

"Really," she continued, a little more loudly than she needed to. "I'm very glad. And you're so enchanting when you sing and speak," she added. "You must do his heart good when you're in his company. I know that he asks for you."

So gradually that I almost didn't notice it, she had drawn closer and closer to me.

 _Manwë,_ I thought to myself for the thousandth time as I stared at her long eyelashes and full lips, _But she is so beautiful. So very, very beautiful…_

"I wish…" she whispered, reaching out and touching my chin with the tips of her long, elegant fingers.

Before I knew what was happening, she had drawn me close and kissed me.

Her lips were warm and so soft, and the flavour of her was like spices, apples, and salt. She tasted me again, and the way the tip of her tongue brushed my lower lip stroked me awake between the legs.

My heart began to race.

There was a silent moment while we each drew a breath, waiting to see what the other would do.

Chalia had placed her fingertips along my jaw and was staring hungrily down at my mouth. It was this, I think, that decided me.

I kissed her back. I brought my own hands to rest on the silky skin of her bare shoulders and leaned in, allowing my nose to brush hers. By now, our bodies were touching under the surface of the water. I could feel her fevered skin and the way she pushed herself against me.

Again and again, softly and slowly, I pressed gentle kisses to her sweet mouth. Even with the rush of blood throbbing in my ears, I did not hurry my pace. I did not push or pry. I felt Chalia's breath hitch in her throat. As one, we moved toward the side of the pool and she relaxed as her back came to rest against the stone.

She caressed the sides of my face with her thumbs absently, focused on my mouth and the sensations I wrought within her. When I broke off my ministrations and lipped at the smooth skin of her long neck, she sighed.

I chose not to think, not to judge the situation or make any conclusions. Today was today; this morning was this morning—this was the reality before me, and nothing else. I accepted it. Valar, did I accept it! It came to me then how hungry I'd been for contact of this kind, especially of late. My body wanted this, and I'd carefully ignored it.

The sounds of our movement in the water were captivating, echoing off the chamber's high ceiling.

Chalia brought her hands languidly to my bare breasts and brushed one, then the other. I gasped at her touch, the now-wetness at my core finding natural homogeny in our surroundings.

Feeling competitive now, I leaned forward and tilted her head to suit my purpose, placing soft kisses at the shell of her ear. She shuddered then, and I held her loosely in my hands. I continued to worship her delicately pointed ear with my mouth—now beginning to massage the lobe—ever-so-gently! with a thumb and forefinger. My reward was a gentle cry of pleasure, and I smirked against her skin.

Boldly, she brought her weightless legs up under the water and wrapped them about my slender waist; my knees nearly gave way. With our cores pressed tightly together, she rocked against me experimentally once or twice.

It had been some time since I'd engaged in this way with an elleth, but I had done it before, and enjoyed it. This, though—this was… exquisite.

After a creative assault on the gorgeous column of her pale throat, I pulled back and looked her in the eyes, wanting to judge my progress.

To my horror, they were filled with tears.

"Are you—?" I choked, not sure what to say. "Should I—?"

"No," she cried, shaking her head. "Please don't stop. I want this."

But I frowned and held myself back.

Chalia tucked her hands behind my neck and pulled me into her, spinning us slowly about in the water so that _my_ back was to the wall.

"I've wanted this for a long time," she whispered, so close, I could feel her breath on my lips.

"Me, too," I agreed, just before she claimed my mouth.

With Chalia in the lead, my mind spun. She was assertive, brave in a way I could never be. I was clever and intuitive, but she was powerful. With trembling lips, she made love to me, singularly focused, until I swooned. She smelled wonderful; she tasted wonderful-er. The things her mind chose for her body to do and show to mine left me breathless, my center throbbing for release.

When she dipped one of her hands below the surface of the water and reached for me there, I was ready, opening for her and hissing my pleasure into her shapely shoulder.

It didn't take long.

Two or three incursions, and I was shaking, burying my face in her neck, and riding the crest of my climax.

She held me and stroked my hair while I recovered, taking deep, steadying breaths.

I imagined the heady scent of our combined desire was a cloud around us and felt myself grow drowsy at its insistence.

"Now, you," I whispered, finally, into her flushed ear. I felt her tremble for me in anticipation, and with a silly waggle of my eyebrows, I let go of her, dropping _both_ hands into the pool and touching her, gently at first.

It was like playing an instrument, and I pleasured her the way I preferred to be pleasured, a mix of fast and slow stimulation with contrasting pressures. There were so many ways to surprise her, so many ways to wring a reaction from her. I tried them all, thrilled with how she responded to one finger, two fingers, three. One here, one back there. One thrusting, one rubbing. One tracing careful little circles down in front.

When I cupped her buttock with one hand, she moaned softly into my hair.

Twice, I brought her to the edge and then slowed, frustrating her, I knew.

When she finally broke, she did it sobbing with relief, and I held her through it, kissing her softly until I thought she might shudder herself apart.

After, we stayed in each others' arms for several long moments, not speaking, neither one of us willing to break the spell.

At last, she whispered, "Thank you."

Much later that day, still flush with my exertions and wonderfully relaxed, it occurred to me that I was less worried about Thranduil Elvenking of Greenwood the Great or Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm than I had been in days. One had to consciously make choices to reach a point of irreparability with another, and I hadn't made them yet—with either ellon. I would strive not to.


End file.
